


Toothpaste Kisses

by Calebski



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gentle Romance, Mainly Sirius POV, Post War, Return from the veil, everyone lives au, low angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 05:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calebski/pseuds/Calebski
Summary: When his eyes had lost the white dots from the sudden light, he registered more than Hermione's frantic breathing. An eye mask was pushed back into her unruly curls, her body almost completely hidden by pyjamas far too big for her, a vast amount of white cotton, with little purring cats all over.





	1. Chapter 1

_Lay with me, I'll lay with you_   
_We'll do the things that lovers do_   
_Put the stars in our eyes_

_And with heart shaped bruises_   
_And late night kisses, divine_

Toothpaste Kisses - The Maccabees [2007]

* * *

Life since returning from the veil had been…. an adjustment for Sirius Black. Though it wasn’t taking on board the changes that affected him, after all, this wasn’t his first attempt to reintegrate himself into the world that had passed him by. That was going as smoothly as it could, and even if he said so himself, he was doing better this time. At least he thought he was.

No, it wasn't that the world changed, more that he hadn't. Sirius hadn't aged a day since entering behind the mythical archway, and it had been five years. If anything he looked better than he had before, less haunted, less hollow, though looks, as he was all too aware, were deceiving.

Three years after the final battle Sirius woke in his childhood bed at Grimmauld Place, his mind fully alert and primed for combat. Even now, six months later, no one was any the wiser as to why or how he was sent back, though many gave theories, long, boring theories. What they seemed to find the most challenging, the Healers that had poked and prodded him relentlessly, was that his mind was intact after a such a prolonged period. Sirius had explained that as far as he could tell, he had been awake but not alert. None of their charts or books could explain how his sanity had not splintered without stimulus of any kind. Sirius had wanted to scoff at them. He had already spent over a decade in Azkaban, a fate that had prepared his mind to survive in the suspension of life behind the veil if not with ease, at least without further mental scarring, he had enough of that. It helped that it hadn’t been cold there, wherever he had been.

But now he was out, thrust back into the real world again, and for the first time in his life, there was no conflict, no living under the shadow of an imminent war, no hiding out for fear of legal recriminations. It should have been comforting, and it did help, he owned that part of his recklessness last time was down to the desperation and fear that had built up while he was locked away in that old house, unable to do anything. And yet the wizarding world at peace was... unsettling.

Sirius had only known two things in his life, running from the horror of his birth family to make his own and then fighting with all that he had to protect them. All that remained of both were now gone and Harry, little Harry, that he had held in his arms as a baby was going to be a father himself.

* * *

Sirius was in the kitchen at Grimmauld talking to a patient Harry when Hermione arrived; he barely looked up, the young witch was often there, despite having her own place, her presence being even more common now Ginny was pregnant and needed help.

“What's wrong?” Hermione asked, looking between both men locked in quiet disagreement.

“I've asked Sirius to be the godfather,” Harry said smiling, though Sirius could see it was a little strained.

“Oh that's lovely,” Hermione replied, dropping into the seat in front of him to pull things out of her bag until she stopped, looking up curiously as she clocked the atmosphere in the room. “Or it isn't?” she queried hesitantly.

Sirius huffed, crossing his arms over himself defensively. “I'm not sure I'm fit for the job poppet, didn't exactly do a stellar job the last time, did I?”

“Still,” Hermione said in her politest tone, ignoring his question, “I can't believe you would turn it down.” She eyed him carefully before rummaging in her bag again. “I remember when my dad got asked, he spent days walking around the house making Don Corleone jokes.”

Harry shared a small laugh with her, and Sirius sat forward. “What?” He was used to missing stuff, not understanding the context of a conversation, he had spent so much time out of the loop it barely annoyed him anymore, though he always asked.

“Oh, sorry Sirius, you know so much about the muggle world sometimes I forget you weren't born there. It's a muggle film reference, The Godfather,” she explained patiently.

“Never heard of it,” he replied, forgetting the reference immediately, kicking his boots up onto the table and leaning back in his chair, waiting for her to scold him.

“My dad liked it,” she all but whispered.

Shit, Sirius thought, immediately dropping his feet back down to the kitchen floor missing Harry hiding his smile behind his fingers. “Well, maybe we could watch it or... something,” he suggested falteringly. Though he spent a lot of time with Hermione, it was rarely just the two of them, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable.

Her face brightened instantly, and he had to fight down the urge to smirk at his ability to lift the clouds away from her expression. “Sirius I… that would be lovely thank you.”

He exhaled steadily as she turned back around, giving himself a mental pat on the back, crisis averted. Her parents were still a very sore spot, Harry had told him, amongst all of the information he had had to update him on, that they had never been able to get their memories back. Sirius sometimes forgot with Hermione being so mature and in command of herself that she was essentially on her own, last of her line, not that she would appreciate the pureblood terminology. He supposed in a way; they had that in common, Harry, too, so many of them now.

With Hermione happier again Sirius sat back in his chair and lifted his mug to shield his subtle observation of Harry and Hermione’s conversation. Their easy friendship reminded him so much of himself and James, though himself and his friend had been cut from the same cloth the two young people in front of him were very different people and yet they had found their other half in that same way, soulmates of a kind,

Since coming back from the veil, Sirius discovered that most people had changed very little. Despite the horrifying magnitude of everything that had happened humans were resilient creatures, Tonks was still clumsy, Remus still easy to rile, in essentials the sphere of folk around him were much the same as they had ever been. Obviously, the changes in the trio had been the most pronounced; they had been little more than kids when he had... gone. Of the three Hermione was the most drastically altered, at least from his perspective. Remus couldn’t understand what he was talking about when he raised it, but Sirius rationalised that it must have happened in a series of increments in front of the werewolf, where he was smacked with all the changes in one hit. At first, it had made her presence the hardest to adjust to.

When Sirius had met her as an awkward young teen, he had teased her, mimicked her shrill lecturing and scoffed at her bleeding heart. Remus had always defended her, pretty vehemently if he remembered correctly, but that had only pushed Sirius further, taking it as further proof that she was everything he assumed she was a bossy little teacher's pet.

He was bitter then, and he knew it, in the back of his mind at least, but it didn’t make him stop. Hermione was safe to argue with, she stood her ground, occasionally literally; planting her feet before him when he would rage at her, and even though he detected the slightest glimmer of a crush from her behaviour she had never once held back from speaking her mind.

Now he was back he was around her more than he had ever been before, and he saw her through new eyes. She was still safe, still loyal, still frightening bright in a way that made him wonder how she carried on around the rest of them without going stark raving mad but he didn’t find her irritating anymore. At least not in any of the ways he had before.

She had no expectations of him, the Hermione of now was a laid back Hogwarts Graduate. Without the weight of the wizarding world on her shoulders she wasn't so tense, so paranoid, so determined over Harry and his safety. It didn’t mean she wasn't as bossy as she had been before, he did not suppose that would ever change, but she didn't have anything to prove to the world anymore, or even if she did she no longer cared about it. Sometimes when he looked at her he still saw her as a kid, more hair than witch, leaning up on her tiptoes to shout at him, bemoaning his treatment of Kreacher and resting her hands on her slim hips. He had hated it then; he had been ‘free’ so little in his life he’d had no tolerance for being nagged. Her face pinched in disapproval had reminded him, painfully, of a young Lily. He realised now how far off that assessment was.

The worst thing about all of his new observations was that he realised with a sprinkling of horror that he missed it. Missed the way her eyes used to spark when she railed at him for drinking or smoking, or both. More relaxed or not she still did it to Ron and Harry, chiding them along to work, reproaching them for the state of their houses. Was it weird to be jealous of chastisement? He leant back in the chair again wondering if he was developing yet another kink.

* * *

 

It was a week after himself, and Harry reached an impasse in Godfather appointment discussions when he turned up at her house. He had been trying to get out of Grimmauld as much as possible. While Harry was happy to leave the request with him, Ginny was not and though he might have wanted Hermione’s reprimands he had no secret yearning for the redheads being heaped onto him.

He stumbled out of the floo and dusted himself off before looking around; he hadn't been to her home before. Despite being ‘officially’ back for six months most of his social time had been at Grimmauld, Harry’s house. He had sent off a quick owl earlier begging for her assistance in escaping for the afternoon, and she had accepted, no doubt rolling her eyes to her heart's content to his pleading.

“Hermione,” he yelled into empty space to announce himself, smiling when he thought of how his mother would spin in her grave at such manners. A muffled reply came a few moments later, sounding faintly like ‘coming’.

Sirius grinned, he could picture her, lip between her teeth and ink splodges on her palm as she furiously tried to write down her final thought before she came down.

He walked into the kitchen while waiting for her to come down, opening a few doors experimentally, and pausing to spin to look around properly. It wasn't what he had been expecting her place would look like, though now he was there he couldn't recall what he had previously had in mind. It was certainly better than Grimmauld, not that the building had ever been home, just where he lived.

Harry and Ginny had done a lot to it, the old place was barely recognisable, even some of the archways and doors has been resized, but no amount of shifting internally could change the shell. For him, all of the furnishings, bright and cosy as they were, could not mask what had been there before. In the same way, a glamour charm was never completely effective if you knew what it was covering, when he walked around his childhood home the memories shimmered at the edges of his vision, projecting an austere coldness that was no longer there.

As he walked around the airy space filled with soft colours and plush furnishings he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he should just bite the bullet and do something like this. Get his own space, one where the past wouldn’t be able to get him.

He sank into a chair at the brushed wood kitchen table lost in thought. Moving out would mean being on his own, he wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet. He leant his arms across the table taking in the fading light from the window overlooking the neatly kept garden. Maybe Hermione would let him come around more often?

Soft footfalls on the stairs had him turning, and Hermione walked in wearing a thick jumper, looking just as soft and warm as everything else was there, and he was momentarily distracted from the weird book she was holding over her head.

“You ready to be educated Mr Black?” she said in a teasing tone and Sirius stood up straighter, slightly surprised by his reaction to her words.

“Lead the way,” he called dryly.

* * *

Watching a film turned out to require something of a production in terms of prep. Hermione came in and out of the cosy living room several times, carrying various bowls of food and finally, once she seemed to have brought in every blanket or cushion from the whole house, she crouched in front of what Sirius knew was a telly and fiddled around with a shiny disc for a while.

When the noise started to boom from the screen, she ran back quickly with an eagerness that made him swallow a bark of laughter, flicking off the lights before settling amongst all of the blankets and clutching a bowl of popcorn on her lap. Sirius took a little while longer to get comfortable, stretching in numerous positions before he gave in and kicked his boots off, sliding down on the sofa and grabbing his own bowl of food. Hermione’s face was fixed on the screen from the moment she sat down, even through, what he would later find out, where just the previews for other films. Her focus was so fixed that she occasionally raised her hand to her mouth only to miss and attempt to push a fluffy white treat into her cheek. Sirius thought he might be too distracted by her to concentrate, but in a few minutes, he was swept away, leaning forward, elbows on his knees so he could watch the screen more easily.

It was compelling, fast paced and he lost himself entirely in the story, that was until he became aware of Hermione again, or rather how uncomfortable she was. Her shoulders were tense, and she was shooting little looks at him every few minutes, clearly thinking she was being covert but failing miserably.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he turned around. “What's wrong kitten?”

Hermione flinched, her cheeks pinking slightly at being caught. He wondered for a second if she would try and fib but she looked resigned. “Err... I hadn't considered the plot entirely before I made the suggestion,” she coughed, “Michael… returning home as a hero and being reluctant to join the family business… I...”

He looked at her searchingly for a moment and then the pieces all aligned in his head; he would have laughed at her if she didn't look quite so earnestly afraid that she might have inadvertently upset him. “I wouldn't worry about it; I barely paid it any attention.”

“Are you sure?” she asked in a small voice her fingers gripping into the cushion in front of her.

“Didn’t even make the connection till you just mentioned it poppet,” he said offhand and picked up another handful of the chocolate buttons from the bowl in front of him.

“Oh, I should really know when to shut my mouth.”

He did allow a laugh to slip out that time, “It’s fine… honestly.”

“Ok,” her eyes darted to the screen, “there is still about half an hour left can I get you another drink?”

“Yeah sure,” he accepted eagerly, grateful for the break of tension.

As the little witch left the room, her orange familiar took advantage of the open door and walked in, his path a carefree saunter until he realised there was another person in the room and he changed direction immediately, marching up to Sirius and climbing into his lap. He walked back and forth on his legs for a few steps before he collapsed into a pile of matted fluff.

“Hello old friend,” Sirius said as he scratched under the cat's neck.

He was still getting reacquainted with Crookshanks when Hermione came back in with the drinks and settled herself down. Raising an eyebrow at her cat and leaning her head back against the sofa.

Sirius tried to settle back into the film, but Hermione’s worried eyes were taunting him, that kind of thing was just so like her; being so aware of someone else's feelings but the provocation was so small, he didn't want her treating him with kid gloves. He wasn't damaged, well, he wasn't a basket case, not yet at any rate.

Before long the film ended and the gratingly repetitive loop of the menu screen seemed to shake Hermione from wherever she had gone in her mind. She leant over to reach for the control and turned the screen off, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

“So,” she began awkwardly, as she stepped up to turn on a side light. “Harry says that you still don't want to be the godfather.”

“And he’s dispatched you to change my mind?” he queried, managing to just about keep the bitterness out of his voice, for some reason the thought that her acceptance this afternoon might have been part of a ‘set up’ angered him.

“No,” she replied, gathering a whole heap of soft furnishings and depositing them on the chair on the other side of the room. “I just wondered why that was all,” she shrugged resuming her earlier seat, and Sirius felt his irritation deflate, she was a shit liar, one of the worst; her denial was honest.

“It's a tremendous responsibility, Hermione.” He replied hoping to find a way to make her understand, “I know they've asked you to be Godmother, aren't you worried?” he asked, employing a deflection trick of old. His reasons were as numerous as they were well known, he didn't want to discuss his failings again.

“Of course, but I was kind of hoping you would be there to help.” Sirius looked up, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Well,” she continued giggling slightly at his shocked expression. “I thought we would even each other out, my homework planners and colour-coded revision notes your miniature motorbikes” she finished with a grin.

Sirius tried to smile, shutting out the image of a child under both influences, fairly sure that the little boy his mind conjured, with curly dark hair and grey eyes, wasn't a Potter. He cleared his throat, “that’s all well and good Hermione, but you're focusing on all of the positives, what about if something goes wrong? The godparents are expected to step in then, provide care and support and… well…”

“Sirius,” Hermione interrupted softly, looking at him with kind eyes. “Nothing will ever happen to Harry and Ginny.”

“You don’t know that,” he responded, pushing the words up against the weight on his chest, “Harry’s an Auror and Ginny, she plays Quidditch professionally, any number of things could happen to either one of them. What if it’s left to me again and I fuck up?”

“You can’t live your life by what if’s Sirius and even so, there are two of us now, if anything….” she shut her eyes, not even able to vocalise the worst case scenario. “In any case, I would be there too to help. I would feel a lot better about it if you were going to be too. Partners?”

Sirius looked at Hermione steadily, taking in the resolve that had settled into her dark brown eyes as well as her posture. “Partners.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sirius was becoming increasingly animated as he explained the plot of The Godfather to Harry and Remus, feeding off the happy vibe in the room the conversation quickly became rowdy and even though Harry had told him, more than once, that he had seen the film before he let him continue without complaint. After talking with Hermione, Sirius had told his godson that he would take on the responsibility again and considering how moved the young man seemed to be he was glad she had pushed him. For once in his life, Sirius knew he had made the right choice. It was a wonderfully refreshing feeling.

By the time Hermione appeared in the kitchen, loaded down with a magnitude of shopping bags, Sirius was up on the table, having moved from description to reenactment somewhere along the way. She breezed passed him as if it was completely normal behaviour and dropped her bags on the counter, before moving about depositing things in various  
cupboards and draws. No one questioned her; the men sat around the table knew better than to get in Hermione’s way when she was in ‘task completion mode’ though Harry did raise an eyebrow when she pulled the fifth successive glass jar out of one bag.

“Jam,” she explained after his silent prompt, shaking the jar in her hand, “or jams I should say, Ginny is craving… well, all of them I think.”

Harry laughed, but Sirius was focused on her, “surely Harry should be doing that kitten?”

She turned to look at him, pausing to smile at Harry’s indignant expression. “He was off playing wizard cops when the request came, and I was in the alley today anyway.”

Harry threw a biscuit at her when she uttered the familiar barb, originated by George, but Sirius bristled slightly, she was always darting off here, there and everywhere to do things for other people; it was reading suggestions for Victoire last week and helping Ron pick furniture the day before last. “I hope she plans to return the favour when you have your own kids,” he responded before he could think about what he was saying.

Hermione flushed slightly, closing the cupboard door a little abruptly. “That’s probably a little while off yet,” she murmured before she seemed to check herself and brightened. “So,” she ventured “what were you talking so riotously about before I came in?”

Remus moved to pour her a cup of tea from the charmed pot in front of them and beckoned her to sit down. “Sirius was talking about the film you watched, I would ask to borrow it, but there seems little point now he has given us the action replay,” he said dryly, and Hermione laughed.

“If you liked it Sirius you should watch the second one.”

“There's a second one?” he asked excitedly, though whether at the prospect of the film or her company he couldn’t say, maybe both?

Hermione smiled indulgently at him, “Yes, I’ll bring it over. Though I doubt a film has brought about such high spirits and as there are no actual spirits on the table what have I missed?”

“Sirius said yes,” Harry enthused, and Sirius felt his chest compress at the pure delight on the boy’s face.

“Oh that's great,” Hermione replied, finally sitting down next to Remus and placing her hand over Harry’s in gentle congratulations.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Remus ventured as she grabbed the offered mug, but Hermione just shrugged.

“I thought he would accept, eventually.”

As Hermione averted her eyes to drink her tea Remus and Harry shared a knowing glance that made Sirius feel distinctly uncomfortable. “Hermione do you think you could get one of those DVD player things working here?” he asked, breaking the silence in the room.

“I'm sure,” she replied.

* * *

Sirius sat down on his bed, fanning out the stack of parchment in front of him, property details and a lot of them. That morning he had walked into the estate agents and ended up leaving with almost everything they had. Not that the staff hadn't tried to help him narrow it down, but the truth was he couldn't answer even the most basic of their questions. Where did he want to live? How big did he want the place to be? The last time he had looked for property for himself he was fresh out of Hogwarts and living off his trainee Auror salary. He hadn’t wanted to touch the money his Uncle Alphard had left him, he had a notion back then that he would save it, ready for when the time came to buy a family home, such dreams felt like such a long time ago now.

He picked up the first piece of glossy parchment and turned it over, glancing at the pictures of the three bedrooms and two bathrooms that were located in the small cottage. His mind instantly supplied that it was too small, but too small for what? It was just him after all. He set the page to the side all the same.

He hadn’t lived on his own before (he, for one, counted the company of buckbeak), he had lived with Remus after school, but as his friend was now married with a family and it was more than a little impractical to suggest such a thing again.

As he turned page after page over with little response he considered asking Harry for help, not that his godson had any more experience in such things than he did, but a second opinion was always helpful. Musing on it for a little while he eventually decided it was a bad idea; he hadn’t mentioned his thoughts on moving out yet, and while he knew Harry would be happy for him, taking it as a sign he was ready to fully embrace life, he didn't want to risk Harry feeling like he was pulling away. He had already missed so much; he wanted to be able to support him through this next stage. Harry was wary about his first child being born and had been relying on those around him heavily; surely he would only want to do that more after they were born?

Sirius realised with a start that if he told Harry he would no doubt tell Ginny and that witch would definitely want to get involved, maybe even ask her mother! No, it was best to keep him to himself for now. Not that he had anything against Harry’s wife, Ginny was lovely and a perfect match for his godson, though possibly a little more highly strung than he could cope with for long periods, especially at such an advanced stage in her pregnancy.

He turned another parchment over, and an image of a light filled living room reflected back at him. It looked similar to one of the rooms at Hermione’s house, though slightly smaller and weirdly colder. Maybe she would come and have a look at a few with him?

* * *

 

“Sirius!”

Sirius followed the sound of Hermione’s call pausing at the doorway of the living room; she was kneeling on the floor in front of the newly purchased telly her head tilted to the side as she fiddled with the DVD player she had been working on that afternoon.

“Yes, kitten,” he answered, and she jumped out of her skin at the sudden unexpected reply. “Sorry,” he laughed as she glared at him, clutching a hand to her chest.

“I didn't realise you had already come down,” she admonished, “you're not normally so light on your feet.”

“You rang?” he responded dryly and dropped a hand towards her to help her to her feet.

“Yes, it's all set up for you now. I’ve brought over some DVD’s of mine that you might like as well as ordering a few more that I can bring over when they arrive. The sequel that we talked about is loaded in the player, so you just need to press ‘OK’, and you’re good to go.” She dusted off her jeans and placed the remote she had shown him earlier on the table, moving to start to collect her bits and pieces up from around the room, apparently getting ready to make a move.

Sirius glanced over at the clock in the hall, 8 pm. “Sit down and watch it with me,” he said, carefully keeping his tone neutral before sitting on the sofa. Hermione had one arm in her coat, and she looked towards the clock herself, worrying her lip. “Unless you had plans?” he asked, picking up the remote and trying to remember the buttons he had to press to get the thing going.

“It’s this one,” Hermione supplied, pointing her finger towards a large plastic circle before shrugging out of her coat and joining him on the sofa.

* * *

The film was blaring on the screen, but Sirius was finding it harder to concentrate than the last time. He thought that was partly as the sequel wasn't as good as the first one, something that Hermione had mumblingly disagreed with about half an hour before when he had been able to distract her from her laser focus for two seconds together. But it wasn’t just that, the living room here wasn’t as nice as hers, and though he had thought she looked it bit strange carrying in all the blankets and preparing the food he realised how much it added to the experience now it wasn't there.

All of that made an impact, but he knew that most of his distraction was because of Hermione herself, not that she was doing anything specific, certainly not anything she hadn't done around him before, but he was just more… aware of it now. She wore every emotion on her face watching the film, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ when she was surprised and hiding behind a cushion when the scenes got too violent. Ridiculous behaviour for someone that had been through an actual war and yet it was so endearing he nearly forgot himself several times.

He had also been positive that she was sitting closer to him than she had the last time, though after losing at least ten minutes to covertly trying to judge the size of the small gap between them he realised that it might have just been as simple as this sofa being smaller.

As it became apparent that the plot was winding down, he could feel Hermione start to fidget and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“So…” she began.

“So?” he responded trying to gather his thoughts together to sound vaguely coherent.

Hermione leant her head back against the sofa to look at him better. “I was wondering why you were here, watching a film of all things, on a Friday night?”

“What else would I be doing?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

“Haven’t all the boys gone out tonight?” she asked, and Sirius busied himself with tidying the items strewn all over the table.

“That would have been rude poppet. You... you sorted out the player thingy, and I couldn't have just gone out and left you to it.”

That wasn’t strictly true, he had been planning on going, though he wasn't sure how much he had been looking forward to it. George had supposedly found this ‘amazing new pub’, that was positively ‘filled to the rafters with ‘beautiful women’. Sirius wasn’t all that interested in ‘new’ at the moment, and he could have beautiful company staying at home.

“Oh,” she replied looking decidedly thoughtful, “you didn't need to feel obligated Sirius, I am here enough doing bits and pieces for Harry and Ginny, I could have let myself out.”

He felt a prickle of annoyance climb the back of his neck. “It wasn't an obligation,” he gritted out sternly. But Hermione didn't seem to notice.

* * *

The following Friday night Sirius was in fact out, however, instead of an evening with ‘the guys’ almost the entire clan had made their way to the Burrow, as a kind of pre-celebration for the upcoming baby. Following the war, the group needed very little excuse to get together, and as he was still battling to be out of Grimmauld as much as possible, he leapt at the chance.

Dinner had been cleared away several hours before, and the drinks had been flowing freely since then, so much so that despite the relatively early hour some around the large table in the garden were beginning to look a little worse for wear. Sirius smirked at Ron who had clearly had more than ‘a few too many’, his face growing ever redder and redder as he laughed uproariously at whatever Charlie was telling him in the corner. Judging by the sloppy hand actions Sirius could make out Charlie had been taking care of a lot more than dragons in Romania. Harry was apparently trying to follow the example of his friend though his progress was impeded by Hermione, who was managing to covertly steal his drinks whenever possible. Something she had been doing completely without detection until about five minutes before when Harry caught her lifting the latest in a long line of half finished bottles from the table in front of him. Sirius watched on impassively as the two began a quiet yet tense argument, as Hermione waved the bottle threateningly and Harry repeatedly reached for it, his seeker reflexes dulled by the amount he had already managed to put away. Ginny was clearly less concerned about her observation being detected and stared at them both, bent over as much as her protruding stomach would allow, silent tears running down her face.

It was incredible how much the pair resembled their childhood selves when they scowled at each other stubbornly. If it was anyone else looking at the little witch like that Sirius would have considered intervening but he knew their relationship, they would be stunned at the very idea of someone perceiving their bickering as serious.

“You’re not my mum Hermione or my wife, so don’t presume to tell me how much to drink,” Harry argued, finally successfully snatching the icy bottle out of Hermione's clutches.

“Thank Merlin for small mercies,” Hermione snapped back, although quietly, “and I didn't presume to tell you anything, I just took them away,” she carried on, her little nose a slightly aloft, dismissing him entirely.

“That's a pedantic response Hermione, even for you.”

She glared at him, “if you could be trusted to be even the tiniest bit responsible I wouldn't have to get involved at all!”

“I am responsible, I’m a fully qualified Auror Hermione; I know when I’ve had my limit,” Harry protested, making his point by drinking half the bottle down in one.

“A fully trained Auror who missed that I’ve been stealing his drinks for half the night.”

Harry let loose a hiss of frustration, and Sirius started when Remus sat next to him on the benches by the patio doors. “If you keep staring at her, Molly’s going to pick up on it, and I would think you might want to tell Hermione before you betray your interest in her to the whole world.”

Sirius brushed a hand over his face, not meeting his friends gaze. “I’m not sure I am… interested.”

“Intense eye-fucking suggests otherwise.”

“I was not eye-fucking,” he protested, a little too loudly and the duo quieted down until conversation around them continued.

“Well, actually, no you weren't, I was just goading, the real expression on your face was a little bit misty,” Remus replied, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

“I’m….” he began before realising he was staring again and forced himself to look away. “I don't know what I am, but whatever it is, I know that I’m annoyed with her at the moment.”

“Lovie dovie eyes say different,” Remus prodded, and Sirius scowled at him.

The werewolf bumped his shoulder, “come on, ‘oh emotionally inarticulate one’, explain it to me?”

Sirius reached forward to grab the firewhiskey bottle topping up his measure and leant back against his seat. “She’s so different from before, and I’m not quite sure how to feel about her, or around her now. All I know for certain is that she’s changed around me and I don’t like it.”

Remus scrunched his nose, “changed how?”

“Well look at her with Harry,” he said, gesturing towards the pair who had moved on from snipping at each other to happy comradery again. Hermione was still actively trying to take the current bottle from Harry, but he now seemed to find this as funny as his wife and was pinching his friend in rebuke.

“You want her to try and stop you drinking?” Remus asked incredulously.

“No,” Sirius responded petulantly, “I want her to care that I am drinking.” He paused when he realised his friend hadn't answered and looked around to find the werewolf doing a piss poor job of controlling his laughter. “How is this funny?” he hissed.

“I’m sorry,” Remus choked out, sounding anything but, “it’s just, I never thought I would see the day that you would lament being nagged. If all of those spurned girls from your past could see you now.”

“She doesn't nag,” he defended quickly, too quickly, sending Remus into another round of laughter.

“Some friend you are Moony,” he moaned pitifully, and Remus put his hand on his shoulder.

“None of that Padfoot. It's simple really, work out what you do feel, dust off some of the ‘famous Black charm’ and dodge Molly.”

Sirius backed the last of his drink in one gulp and but the glass back on the table, “maybe you’re right.”

“For what it’s worth,” Remus said, his tone a lot more serious now, “I think that the idea of the two of you is a good one.”

“You think I deserve her?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Remus replied smiling, “but I think you could make her happy, and that’s all that matters in the end.”

* * *

Sirius laid in bed that night pondering on Remus’ words. It had turned out Hermione was right to watch Harry’s alcohol intake after all, as soon as she was persuaded to take her eyes off him a series of drinking games began, the result being Sirius having to almost carry the boy through the floo.

His friend had made it all sound so simple, work it out, act on it, worry about everyone else later. But it had been the charm bit he was stuck on. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Remus when he said he wasn’t sure how he felt, though his reluctance to talk about it would have told his oldest friend everything he needed to know. He never spoke of the girls he really liked, not even in the marauder's dorm at Hogwarts. Sure he talked about girls, silly flirtations and illicit liaisons but all of those instances had been surface level at best. He had built up a reputation as a kid, one that had stuck with him as he got older and was eventually magnified to absurd levels when he became a convict, but the truth was he never let anyone in, in his experience that only opened him up to hurt. The last person he had gotten close to him, after the boys he met on the train at eleven, was Lily Evans, and by the time she became family he knew her well enough to know she would never have hurt any of them.

His typical ‘charms’ as Remus called them, weren’t designed for a situation like this, one where he was contemplating the potential happiness that could come from a long term meaningful connection.

As he curled himself onto his side he eyed the pillow next to him for a moment, the only thing he had ever done well in his life was being a friend.

Maybe that was the place to start.


	3. Chapter 3

“You won't move too far away will you?”

Sirius’ eyes softened as he looked away from the drink he was nursing to meet his godson’s anxious gaze. “No Harry, nowhere you can’t reach me by floo, Merlin, I’d prefer if it were walking distance.”

Harry smiled and relaxed into his seat a little, “then why go at all?”

“It’s time.”

Sirius knew it wasn’t much of an answer, but it was at least truthful. When he had first come out of the veil, he hadn’t entertained leaving Harry’s side for a single moment. So many deaths sat directly on his shoulders and he had promised that he would do what he was supposed to now, protect the boy until his last breath. Like James and Lily had wanted. Except, when he woke up Harry wasn’t a fifteen-year-old kid fighting in a war, he was a young man, a young married man, with a home, a child on the way, with a life.

At first, Sirius had wanted to cling, to stay near the things that made him feel comfortable and whole, but as time went on, he was getting increasingly itchy feet. The old house brought back nightmares of his past, a history that he didn’t want to revisit, a mother he had hated, a father he had feared and a brother he had wronged.

It was time. In fact, it was long overdue.

He had taken advantage of Harry’s day off and invited him for a quick drink. As the plans began to form and take shape in his mind, he had resolved to tell Harry. The more he hunted through the parchments, narrowing down potentials, the more it felt like he was keeping something from him.

“When?” Harry asked, drawing Sirius out of his cloudy thoughts.

“Not until after the baby,” he reassured quickly, and Harry sagged.

“Good that’s good,” he said before taking a long sip of his butterbeer.

A month or two after, that was what Sirius was planning. It would give him enough time to sort out a place and do up what he needed to inside before moving in; it would also mean he was close in those first weeks he was needed, after a lifetime of missed opportunities he didn't want his godson ever to feel like he was pulling away from him.

Chat turned inconsequential for a while, and Harry filed Sirius in on the goings on at the Ministry, the Auror department sounded astonishing like it had when himself and James had been there. The boys repeatedly asked him if he wanted to go back, but he said he was old now, way past the requirements needed. Which wasn't strictly true, he still kept himself in good shape, not the shape he had been in at twenty but still good. He didn't have the fire he had back then, after all that he had been through Sirius felt like he had spent enough of his life running head first into danger.

When, four drinks in, Harry began peeling at the labels on his butterbeer, slowly depositing the crinkled paper into curls on the table Sirius began to prepare himself. He may not have wanted to be an Auror again, but the instincts had never left.

“While I’ve got you,” Harry began jerkily as Sirius came back with the next drink, waiting for him to resume his seat before he went on. “Well… Ginny and I, have spoken about baby names,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, “you remember we told you we don’t know what we're having yet right?”

“Right.”

“So we have decided on… well, we would like to use James or Lily.”

Sirius swallowed, “that’s…. That would be lovely Harry.”

Harry looked up at him with concerned eyes. “Really, you look….”

Sirius waved him off, “I’m sorry Harry, I don’t know why it was such a shock, it’s a great choice.”

“But?” Harry prompted and in spite of himself Sirius’ smile faltered.

“Just, thinking about them, knowing they should be here, for this, for you.”

“I know but… well, I have you don’t I?”

Sirius cleared his throat, “Yeah Harry, you always have me.”

* * *

Facing Harry out of the way, Sirius booked himself on a viewing; he was still coming up blank regarding ‘the emotional response’ the estate agent kept banging on about and so he thought it was time to make the house hunt a little more interactive. He had a least managed to narrow down the location to somewhere close to Grimmauld and having no other wish list item to speak of he picked one at random from that pile. He met with the agent outside the largish detached property on a fairly well to do road in North London.

The front door was covered in a highly lacquered black paint with an ornate gold knocker, and Sirius felt a glimmer of amusement. He could hear a voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione whispering something about an ‘out of control ego’ but he silenced it in favour of going exploring.

The house inside was vast, and yet strangely intimate, something called ‘Georgian’ features meant that the downstairs had two large reception rooms at the front and a large kitchen at the back, overlooking the spacious garden. As they ascended to the second level the agent, Mr Turbot, took him through the many bedrooms drawling in a posh, and probably entirely fabricated, accent indicating the master and hammering on about ‘favourable aspects’.

Sirius knew that six bedrooms was excessive, but with the extra rooms, there would be space for an office and a library, and a curly haired occupant of said library, his mind teased, and he rolled his eyes, his tracks along the landing stopping abruptly afterwards as he realised he was picking up that habit from her.

“‘I’ll think about it,” he said when they were back on the pavement, and Mr Turbot disappeared off to another appointment. It was a long time after the officious man turned around the corner that Sirius finally turned away.

* * *

A few days later Sirius was at Hermione’s house again, something that was becoming a familiar thing to them both. Today was slightly different in that he didn't have a specific reason to be there at all, real or imaginary; he had just turned up. Hermione hadn’t seemed to mind, smiling when he came in and asked what he had been up too. She didn't even rebuke him for his lack of prior warning, he had deliberately stopped bothering with owling in advance weeks before.

Something else that he believed pointed to their increasing familiarity was that they hadn’t done anything since he had come over. When he had first started turning up Hermione had gone out of her way to host, to think of things to do or suggest places they could visit, jumping onto her feet every ten minutes to ask if ‘she could get him anything’, but now she was content just to be when he got there, when he came over now he mainly just got under her feet while she strove to be a productive human.

Right now he was nosing around her kitchen while she cooked. They often ate lunch together, Hermione prepared as he was awful at ir but she asked him to help out now and again, mainly they would just talk while she put things together. It was easier like that, telling her things while she was occupied, with her eyes averted he could tell the anxious part of his mind, the part that screamed at him to conceal the nasty bits, that she wasn't listening, although he knew she would remember every word.

Sirius absentmindedly opened the cupboards and peered at her stuff Hermione had; it was a weird mix of muggle and magical cookware that never failed to hold his attention for five minutes at least. Hermione didn't seem to mind his nosing, didn't seem to notice him at all, any time he looked towards her she would be staring into the saucepan, with a concentration worthy of elaborate potion preparation and not just heating soup.

He opened the next cupboard along, pulling the door a little more forceful, not to get her attention, but as he did, there was an unexpected large crash that made him jump.

Sirius’ head snapped down to the floor; the slate tiles now strewn with glass and…. Oh fuck… he could make out remains of a once distinctive triangular shape that had been smashed into different size shards. Sirius felt a little bit of bile rising in his throat. That was, or rather had been, Hermione’s mother’s vase. She had mentioned it before as being one of the only things she has left… he brushed a hand through his hair; he wasn’t sure a reparo was going to put this one back together.

Gentle footfalls made him snap out of his panic and he looked up as Hermione rushed around the wide island to where he was standing. “Hermione I’m so, so sorry” he apologised, but she didn't see the pleading in his face, her eyes were fixed on the ground.

He stepped forward beginning to feel desperately out of his depth when he saw her blinking steadily. “I… I’ll erm,” he tried, racking his brain for something to say.

“Hon…” she tried to speak but the world wouldn't form, she coughed a little to clear her throat. “Honestly Sirius it's… it’s fine... I mean... no worries,” she said eventually, before gulping in a huge breath.

“Hermione,” he tried again feeling unsettled by her tight hold on her emotions.

“It’s…” she choked out, “it’s no big deal.”

Her dismissal was the last straw, Sirius was convinced Hermione had never said ‘no worries’ in her entire life let alone ‘it’s no big deal’, it wasn’t the time to raise things now, she was upset and vulnerable and he had put her in that state but he had been feeling out of sorts and confused for months and he had never been able to hold a question in his head once it had raised itself in his subconscious and so he did the only thing he knew how to do, open his mouth and let it run away with him.

“Why won’t you yell at me?” he snapped, his eyes flashing.

“Sirius?” she asked bemused, finally looking up from the floor so he could see the liquid glaze of her eyes, the further confirmation that she had been ‘forcibly holding herself together’, it just made him madder. “Why would I? it was an accident.”

“I know that,” he hissed, holding on to the back of one the kitchen chairs so he wouldn't forget himself and walk forward, he couldn't risk crunching the glass further under foot. “But if was Harry or Ron in my shoes you would have screeched at them, or at least allowed yourself to let on how fucking upset you clearly are. You can do that with me you know,” he continued, whacking a hand against his chest for emphasis. “I’m not as fucked up as you seem to think I am Hermione, I’m not going to totally fracture because you have a crossed word for me.”

“What? I don’t...” Hermione tried to derail, but he hadn’t finished.

“Stop treating me like I might break,” he bellowed.

“I…” she wrapped her arms around herself, “I’m not,” she protested.

“Then what would you call it?” he spat.

Hermione averted her eyes. “I’m er... just going to...” and yet she didn't seem to be able to finish her sentence instead she dropped to the floor, and then crouching started to pick up the fallen glass, using one hand to cradle the pieces almost lovingly, as if they weren't jagged bits of glass. Sirius was quiet then, the only noise in the kitchen the gentle scratching Hermione was making and his deep pants of breath. He could see tears pooling onto the floor, splashing amongst the fragments and he wondered if he had ever been a bigger dick in his life than in that moment.

“Shit,” he heard her mutter under her breath and a second later, blood began trickling from her thumb. Sighing, he bent down himself, squatting in front of her, and reached to grip her small hand between his fingers, holding it up to his face to examine the cut.

“There’s nothing in there,” he said finally, as he turned it towards the light one last time. “You should be careful, though.” He let go of her hand and without that to focus on between them their eyes locked. He hadn't realised how close they were. Feeling like he should go back to showing his sincere contrition, he rubbed his denim clad thighs and tried to move the conversation on from his minor meltdown. “Would you like me to charm it back together?”

Hermione shook her head and despite his resolve of only a moment before Sirius couldn’t help the huff that fell from his lips. “Hermione,” he tried, “let me fucking help it's my fault,” his tone more defeated than angry now.

“It’s not that,” she replied, her voice thick. “It just wouldn't feel right… using magic on it.”

“Okay,” Sirius replied quietly, understanding creeping in and making him feel worse. In their little group, they all carried their fair share of burdens for things that had gone before. Hermione’s guilt over her parents had never diminished in the years that had passed.

“We got it on holiday in Edinburgh,” she began unexpectedly and Sirius leant forward to help her up as he righted himself, careful not to say another ill thought word. “My mum always had this ridiculous obsession with glass blowing, Dad and me used to tease her about it all the time. It was her birthday and we took her on this random factory tour and she dragged us into the store attached at the end. Mum fell in love with that one, the most practical shape in the whole display. Dad thought it was the stupidest vase in the world, ‘who makes a vase that only holds one flower?’ he used to say, but he always brought home a fresh rose on a Friday for her to put in it.”

Tears were flowing freely down Hermione’s face now and Sirius knew that he had asked for this, he had wanted real but that didn't help the girl that was standing five feet and a whole world of emotional distance away from him.

Hermione patted the corner of her eyes with the sleeve of her worn jumper and licked her swollen lips. “My mum always ignored him, my dad, whenever he said anything about the vase, she used to say…” she choked on a sob and Sirius fidgeted, “she used to say ‘sometimes, Hermione, sometimes you only need one’ and then she would give me a cuddle and I would think, whatever was happening in my increasingly ridiculous life wouldn't matter because she was happy, and we were happy.”

She steadied her shoulders before looking down at her clenched fist, the hand that was still cradling the shards she had collected, regarding it mutely for a moment before opening her delicate fingers and letting them fall to the ground.

“Magic…. It can't fix everything,” she finished, looking up at him. “I’m going to get a dustpan and brush.”

And in the face of all of the unleashed pain in the room, all Sirius could do was nod.

* * *

When Hermione came back in ten or so minutes later she had washed her face, though the skin around her eyes was pink and crinkled. Sirius leant back against the counter as she knelt down to sweep the residue, he didn't want to risk offering his assistance again.

Just before the atmosphere in the room became oppressive, Hermione spoke, “I don’t think you’ll break,” she whispered and he looked at her.

“When you were here before you... died. Everyone was on your case all the time, telling you to grow up and stay in the house, to sit tight and behave and I was, well, I was young, and a bit self-important and I didn't understand what you were going through. All I saw was Harry. How important you were to him and how you were missing it because you were still locked in your own…. I realised, but not until after the war, much too late, that I was part of that, those nagging voices that pushed at you. And now you're back; you get to live your life again, you don't need someone nagging at you.” She explained quietly as she softly moved the brush over the floor. “I thought… I thought it would be better?”

“No, its not better” Sirius admitted softly.

“Oh?” she asked, looking up at him again, her eyes still damp. Sirius rushed to organise his thoughts, if made her cry again he might just join her and that wasn’t exactly going to convince her that she could put away the kid gloves.

“It's not that I don't appreciate the thought kitten, and I do. But I like the way you are with everyone, I don't think I understood before but that's how you show you care… and I mean, I don’t hate seeing you all riled up,” he finished with a pretty poor imitation of a smirk.

“I do… care about you I mean,” she replied, eyeing him with her familiar piercing honesty. Her skin was paler than normal, probably after the repeated splashing of cold water, and Sirius could see the faint freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose more clearly than normal.

“Even then?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Even then,” she affirmed and Sirius’ fingers flexed around the edge of the kitchen counter. “You were so important to Harry but it wasn't just that, it was for you as well, but I didn't go about it the right way.”

“It was different then; I was struggling with… other things.”

“I get that,” she acceded and moved to stand up, placing the now full dust pan on the side directly next to him, clearly not sure to do with the contents now she had swept them up.

A million words rushed through Sirius’ mind; sage advice he had been given over the years, jokes to lighten the mood and bigger, more scary words, words from the heart. In the end, he ignored them all and as she let go of the brush, he grabbed her sides mere inches above her waist and pulled her to him. He was a little too rough with her like you have been all day, his mind admonished, his need to apologise, or confess, or whatever the prevailing emotion was too much. He wrapped his arms around her back and laid a cheek against her hair as she melted against him.

He flexed his fingers over her spine. I’m so, so, sorry Hermione.

He nuzzled his head against hers. You’re not alone; you will never be alone.

He pulled her tighter. One is enough for me too.

“I won't ever admit to having said this,” he said eventually, not yet letting her go, “but it would be nice if you would nag me again.”

He could feel her smile against his shoulder, “I'll try.”

* * *

Sirius set up the next shots of firewhisky on the worn table as the bawdy conversations around him continued. He hadn't been there for Harry’s bachelor party and having discussed ‘missed opportunities’ earlier in the day they, with the help of all the other boys they could round up at short notice, decided to have a few drinks. A few drinks that had turned into a sizeable number of empty bottles, behaviour that most would have believed to be completely fine if it hadn’t been four in the afternoon.

“Oh for the love of Merlin.”

Hermione’s voice cut through the fog of alcohol and he looked up to see her storming into the kitchen hands on her hips. “Really?” she questioned sternly. “Ginny is over eight months pregnant, what if she needed to be taken to the hospital?”

“‘Snot like we can apparate with a pregnant woman anyway Mione,” Ron defended weakly, his eyes losing focus as he swayed in his chair.

“I'm glad to see at least one item on the list I gave you seems to have permeated your thick skull, Ronald. However, I was thinking more of you being in a fit state to provide comfort and emotional support. Like an idiot” she seethed. Stomping her little foot and moving around them to collect up the impressive display of empty glasses.

“Harry you should know better,” she snapped, dropping the mass of empties with a loud thud.

“Sorry Mione,” he grumbled, and Sirius watched, too drunk to not be mesmerised, as she deflated before shaking her head and heading back for the door.

“And Sirius,” she called over her shoulder.

“Yes, poppet?” He responded eagerly, bumping into a half-asleep Remus in his haste to turn around.

“Don't think I haven't realised that you're the instigator here, try acting your bloody age Black,” she admonished sternly before she disappeared into the hall.

He grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

Sirius eyed the carefully stacked boxes on the floor with a little suspicion and a great deal of wariness. He had been putting this off for months, but now, with a potential move in the future, it was time to rip the bandage off. When he had first gotten back to Grimmauld Place, waking up that morning in his childhood room, it was to the awareness that nothing was as it should have been. Blinking into alertness he realised that the walls were the wrong colour, the furniture moved or even replaced, and the stale stench of decay was gone from the air. With his confused state of mind and panic in his chest he had seriously considered that he’d been dropped into an alternate reality, one in which the home of the Ancient and Noble House of Black wasn’t a residence of shadows but a dwelling of light.

Until he had been found at least.

Harry had been so apologetic, hastily explaining that they had remodelled his room when they did everything else. Sirius couldn't have cared less; he had no emotional attachment left to the place. Even when it had been his home, he had coated every bare inch of wall with muggle posters and Gryffindor flags.

As it turned out Harry had kept everything that was in the room, having caringly packed up his possessions and then held onto them, Merlin knew what for. After Harry had returned them Sirius had put them away at the back of his cupboard, out of sight out of mind. But the time for hiding was long gone. He picked up the three that bore his name and with a flash of resolve emptied the contents onto the bed. The remaining boxes, the ones still neatly stacked on the floor, bore a different consultation name, that of the real lion in the family. Sirius’ fingers had twitched over the lids of those boxes several times, but there was only so much bravery one person could be expected to display in a single day. At the very least he knew he should wait until there was someone else in the house when he faced that, or a lot of whisky close by, or preferably both.

Sirius ran his hand through the scattered remains of his shattered life, idly picking things up and putting them back down. A red striped tie, a Quidditch jersey, a few magazines. There wasn’t a lot there. Most of his things, the possessions that he cared about had been in his shared flat with Remus when he was taken away. He hadn't had the chance to take anything the night he left his family home when he had fled to the Potter’s. Despite everything that had gone on between them, the distrust that had been building on both sides for over a year and his eventual imprisonment Moony had kept a few bits from then, his old leather jacket as well as a few of his records and his photos.

He began moving stuff into the rubbish bag he had put aside, lifting out a few things he wouldn't mind keeping. All in all, he was feeling pretty morose after an hour. A quick glance at the clock showed it was eleven, probably too early for a drink.

As he began to magic away some of the mess that had been created when years of dust were disturbed he heard someone walking around downstairs. Harry and Ginny were planning to be out all day, and Remus was off doing something with Teddy, which only really left one option. By the time he registered that the footfalls were now on the stairs he barely had any warning before the door opened and Hermione poked her head around.

“Hi, due to an incident in the office that I am not allowed to discuss with ‘non-goblins’ I have been given the rest of the day off, I was wondering if you wanted to go for lunch?” she asked brightly until she registered the odd mix of objects that littered his bed. “Or I can come back?”

“No no,” he replied immediately, “lunch would be nice.”

“Out or in?” she asked.

“Out, definitely out.”

He waved his wand to clear the rest up and reached into his cupboard to pull out his jacket. Hermione dutifully walked to the other side of the room not looking at the stuff that he had saved. Unfortunately, he didn’t catch on fast enough that the direction she moved in put her right in front of his desk.

“Sirius?” she asked as he shut the cupboard door, turning seeing her fingers on top of the most recent stack of property particulars. “You’re moving?” she whispered, her eyes trailing down the parchment until she picked it up alarmed “Plymouth?!”

He walked over and took the parchment out of her hands. “Hermione, I picked up everything they had. I wasn’t sure what I was interested in.”

“Oh… Well, have you decided?” She asked airly.

“No,” he admitted, herding her out of the room. “But I went to look at one” he revealed, casting a covert glance in her direction to judge her reaction.

Hermione worried her bottom lip, but her voice was calm. “Oh… Where was that?”

“Not far from here.”

“That’s wonderfully specific Sirius,” she said sarcastically, and he smiled at her.

“When I know, you will know.”

“Fine,” she pouted, and Sirius reached forward to run a hand over her upper arm soothingly.

“Come on,” he chided, “I’ll apparate us.”

* * *

Sirius was once again gathering up his stuff to make a hasty departure the day of Ginny’s baby shower. Witches had been arriving for the last half an hour and Sirius would happily have been long gone hours ago had he not been waiting on Remus to show with Tonks, and Harry to convince himself after ‘one last check’ that Ginny was okay to be left alone for a couple of hours.

Far from the man that Hermione had to chastise to stay sober previously, with the due date looming Harry had gone into overprotective mode, suddenly gripped with intense fear that something was going to go wrong. He had almost vaulted the dining table when Ginny had sneezed the day before, and Sirius was going to be using the time out of the house to attempt to inject some calm into the boy, as well as some booze. Harry would need it, the pregnant witch in question seemed to find his new attitude even more irritating than his previous lack of preparedness and her temper was constantly flaring.

When Harry extracted himself from the kitchen and finally ran up the stairs to get his coat, Sirius bravely dipped his head in to shout his goodbyes, or a hello in Hermione’s case. He had only seen her partially since she arrived earlier that morning as she was either obscured behind various boxes or moving as a barely visible flash as she ran around to make last minute preparations, since she had arrived earlier that morning.

Ginny was sat at the top of the table, surrounded by gifts, and animated chatting to Fleur and Tonks who were flanking her on either side. Predictably, Hermione had not yet taken a seat and was at the end of the table pouring drinks for the assembled rabble.

“We are finally ready, so we will leave you witches to get up to whatever mischief you have planned, have an excellent time Ginny,” he called. The young witch smiled at him, the most serene expression he had seen on her face for days, and he planned to turn to Hermione and get out of there while his luck was in, but as he stepped into the kitchen, he was intercepted by Luna.

“Are you not staying Sirius?” she asked in her dreamlike tones that unnerved him greatly, she was a carbon copy of her mother in looks and heart, but the way she looked at him, head cocked to the side like she could read his every thought freaked him out. He had seen her looking at him and Hermione on several occasions before, and he wondered what the little witch had said about what she suspected to her friend if anything.

“No, I'm off to seek sanctuary in a pub while you lot attack the wine supply.”

“Really? I thought you might be interested in our conversations, Hermione was just explaining a muggle concept.”

“Luna,” Hermione interrupted warningly, and Sirius curiosity was instantly peaked.

He turned back towards the ethereal blonde ignoring Hermione’s narrowed eyes. “You don’t say, please continue.”

“What was it called Hermione?” she asked, trailing a delicate finger around the top of her champagne flute.

“Luna not…” Hermione tried, pink pooling in her cheeks but Luna didn't listen.

“Oh that was it…. ‘Butlers in the Buff’,” Luna exclaimed happily, and Hermione uttered a muffled curse.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at the curly-haired witch, her face now in flames, “What's that poppet?”

“I'm sure you can deduce from the name Sirius,” she bit out, and he moved to stand closer to her.

“Well I mean I’m game,” he teased.

“Don’t you dare Sirius Black,” she forced out between gritted teeth, and he smirked at her.

“As you wish,” he responded brightly, planting a kiss on her forehead before leaving the room with a spring in his step.

He bumped into Remus as he closed the door behind him, leaning against the wall with a bemused expression. “I don't know what's got you so happy; you were just dismissed from the room.”

“No,” he denied, “just because you have freakish hearing doesn't mean you understand. Hermione was practically forbidding me from getting naked in a room full of witches,” he replied smugly.

“Yes, a room which includes her,” Remus replied exasperated.

“Don't piss on my bonfire Moony.”

* * *

The baby shower ended up being a huge success by all accounts, not that he would have needed to take people's word for it, he had seen the state of the kitchen, it was evident there had been a good party. He had hoped to see Hermione when he got back from the pub and had tried to hide his disappointment by asking about her instead. Ginny had packed her off home apparently, saying she had done enough with taking on all the clear up as well, Sirius agreed, though it was an incredibly inconvenient time for him for Ginny to realise that Hermione might be over contributing suddenly.

He had tried to contact her a few times that week, but she had apparently been busy with work. A massive raid in Paris had been undertaken by the field curse-breaking team and according to Fleur Hermione’s department at Gringotts had been backlogged with the potentially dangerous artefacts that had been retrieved, then additional pressure had been heaped on them by the French Ministry who wanted findings as soon as possible to organise trails. All of it had meant that Hermione had been out of contact for a few days and it made Sirius feel off kilter.

He had settled into the living room, it being another Friday night where he just didn't feel like going out. Instead, he loaded up one of the DVDs Hermione had left in a neat stack and tried to lose himself in the story. It didn't work. He kept catching himself turning to look at the other end of the sofa, where she would normally be. He had invited her, despite how busy she was, but like every other request that week she had turned him down with apologies. He had looked at her response for a little while, turning the scrap of parchment over in his fingers. This time he protested, just a little bit, he was sure she couldn't have actually been at work after the amount of hours she had done that week and she confirmed that she wasn't but said she was tired and wanted to get an early night. Once again he regarded the note for a while, something about the wording didn't sit right, it was too stiff, something was lacking. In the end, he chucked it into the fire and gave up on seeing her for a few more days.

As soft click of heels distracted him and he turned his eyes to the screen again to watch who he thought must be the protagonist walk along the corridor in front of the cells. So that was what a muggle prison looked like? He sat lower in his seat and tried to focus his attention on the unfolding plot.

* * *

Sirius drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa and looked up at the clock, the film had been on half an hour, and he wasn't sure he had taken any of it in. There were no blankets or cushions here, he had felt a bit silly when he considered going to get one and in the end hadn’t bothered. He had however made popcorn, not that it tasted anywhere near as good as the way Hermione made it.

He signed getting to his feet; there was nothing else for it, he would go loopy if he continued sitting there staring into space. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed a handful of floo powder and shouted the direction to Hermione’s flat. It wasn’t that late he told himself, well, it was kind of late for a social call but he thought he could get away with it, he could probably just play it off as being bored at home, maybe say he’d already tried Remus. He shook his head as he sought to navigate the darkened living room, he couldn’t do that could he because that was….

“Ow Fuck!” he cursed loudly into the darkness as he collided into a dark shape. When did she move her fucking coffee table?

He reached down to slide off his boot and grip his battered toes. Limping slightly as he did so. Suddenly the room was washed with light, and a wand was pressed against his chest When his eyes had lost the white dots from the sudden light he registered more than Hermione’s frantic breathing. An eye mask was pushed back into her unruly curls, her body almost completely hidden by pyjamas far too big for her, a mass of white cotton with little purring cats all over.

“Don't think much of your bedroom fashion love,” he quipped, while gingerly moving his toes and putting his foot back down.

She huffed, crossing her arms defensively over her chest, “I’ll have you know not all of us go to bed like Victoria Secret girls Sirius,” she replied frostily.

“What's one of them?”

“Underwear models.” she muttered as she tugged at the bottom of her shirt awkwardly.

He filed that for further investigation later. “I meant the cats,” he clarified pointing at her pyjamas.

“Oh,” she looked down blushing slightly, “present from Molly.”

“Why didn't you come over?” he blurted before he could stop himself and Hermione took a step back looking up at him perplexed.

“I told you why,” she replied but she averted her eyes, Sirius stepped forward to eliminate some of the space. “I wasn't feeling too good… tired, I was feeling tired.”

Liar. He was torn between teasing the real answer out of her and ignoring it totally when in his moment of indecision he heard a voice, a distant voice, a man’s voice. Sirius’ eyes bore into Hermione, “Have you got company?” he demanded shortly.

“No,” she protested swiftly.

Before he could press her, he heard it again, a quiet rumbling that was coming from the second floor. Not willing to stand there a moment longer he brushed past her, anger burning up his throat as he marched up the short flight of stairs. Hermione, in a daze for a couple of moments, chased after him when she realised what he was doing, racing to catch up to his much longer strides, her little feet hitting every step in pursuit as he took them three at a time. “Sirius, what are you playing at?” she demanded, “What are you even doing here?”

But he didn't reply; he followed the voice until he was outside what he assumed was Hermione’s room before taking one last glance at her face and whipping the door open.

As he had climbed the stairs, his mind had provided a montage of worse and worse images of what he would find, but nothing had prepared him for an empty room. He walked towards the bed bemused, holding himself back from checking in familiar hiding places until the voice started again, much closer now, and he snapped his head around to see a TV, much smaller than the one in the living room, mounted on the wall.

His heart was still pounding as Hermione finally caught up, and he tried to find the words to cover up his extraordinary behaviour but came up a blank. “Did you think I had a man up here?” Hermione demanded between breathing in gulps of air from the exertion, with an irritated gleam in her eyes as she walked into the room. “Look at me Sirius,” she said incredulously, holding her hands away from herself to gesture at what she was wearing.

I am.

As she began shuffling about his brain finally caught up, and he sauntered over to the unrumpled side of her bed and threw himself on top of the covers. “Well this is much nicer,” he grinned.

“Excuse me Mr Black did I say you could get into my bed?” Hermione huffed, folding her arms across her chest.

“We both know you were thinking it,” he teased, and Hermione dropped a hand over her face muttering something about ‘jesus’.

“Well, are you getting in or what?” he asked, holding up a corner of the plush covers watching as she narrowed her eyes at him. After a moment she raised her eyes heavenward before stomping her foot and getting back under the covers. Propping herself up against the headboard.

“Please tell me you took your boots off,” she asked as she settled herself.

“Trying to get me undressed?”

“Sirius,” she complained.

“Oh, sush woman I took them off downstairs after I nearly got Avada'd by your coffee table. What are we watching?” He asked as he stretched out.

“I am watching Practical Magic,” she replied tartly.

“What's that about?”

“Witches.”

“You're being deliberately obtuse Hermione.”

She snuggled down a little lower, her hair fanning over the back of the pillow, “It’s about two sisters that are witches, and the different ways they cope with it.”

After a while, his questions died down as he relaxed into the bedding. The bedroom, it turned out, was even better than the living room to watch films.

About midway through another character appeared and he turned to Hermione. “Who’s the redhead?”

“Gillian, she’s Sally’s sister,” Hermione replied in a whisper, behaving adorably like they were in an actual cinema.

“Reminds me of a girl I used to know,” he responded with a smile, and Hermione snorted.

“I bet she does. I would also imagine a girl is something of a gross underestimation.”

Sirius laughed softly before shifting on the bed towards her and raising his arm, Hermione, seemingly without conscious thought snuggled into his chest.

“Do we like her?” he asked quietly, emulating her soft tones and moving the conversation away from his rather checkered past.

“We do, but we don’t like her boyfriend.”

“Got it.”

* * *

It was late by the time the credits began to roll, the conversation in the room had been non-existent for the last half an hour, and Sirius thought Hermione had fallen asleep. She was curled up into an impossibly small ball, her legs pulled right up almost against her chest under the covers, and her head had moved farther onto his chest, her gentle breaths heating his skin as he played with her hair. He was so relaxed that he almost jumped when she suddenly spoke, “Sirius it's time to go.”

Sirius’ hand stilled in her hair. He didn't want to go, though he didn't think either of them were ready for a frank conversation about where their friendship was going. So he covered up with humour. “You can't expect me to go home now; it's late, and dark outside. Anything could happen to me,” he protested.

“Through the floo?” she replied dryly and he smiled.

“I’ll make you coffee in the morning?”

Hermione sighed, “Fine, but I'm going to bed.”

“Me too.”

While Hermione sorted out turning off the film Sirius ran down the corridor to use the bathroom, washing his face quickly he eyed her toothbrush and a smirk formed on this face.

* * *

As he climbed into bed, he rearranged the pillows looking down when he heard a strange rustling. “What in the name of Merlin?” he slid a hand under the bottom pillow and pulled out a series of chocolate wrappers.

Hermione buried her head against his chest. “I don't like watching films without treats,” she mumbled, muffled against his t-shirt.

“Hermione Jean Granger, you were raised better.”

Hermione snatched the packets away from him and scowled with mock indignation. “Considering you behave as if you were raised by a pack of stray dogs most of the time I don't believe chocolate in bed is a capital offence.”

Sirius’ smile took on a wicked gleam. “There's nothing wrong with chocolate in bed poppet, just you know, it's usually a little bit more exciting than empty wrappers.”

Hermione pulled her head away from his chest, her mouth open and her eyes like saucers.

“Too far?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think anything you say would shock me anymore, but I just thought what a mess that would make of the sheets.”

Sirius barked out a laugh and deciding to utilise her distraction while he could, he leant forward and pressed a soft kiss on the side of her mouth. It was fleeting, far too quick, but he didn't dare linger for much longer. He didn't look at her for a moment, closing his eyes as he revelled in the soft feel of her warm skin, as she shifted slightly he caught her eye and saw the thoughtful expression on her face.

“Did you use my toothbrush?” He smiled against his will, and she shoved him a little before turning over and flicking out the light.

“Good night Sirius.”

“Good night Hermione.”

The room was silent, and Sirius moved around in her bed trying to get comfortable, he rolled onto his side to face her back and looked up over at the pillows, only this time they weren't empty, they were filled with a mass of chocolate curls. “Hermione?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Can I come over and watch another film tomorrow, I don't think that TV you set up works properly at Grimmauld.”

There was a pause, a couple of seconds too long and then her voice broke it, “if you would like.”

He waited a moment until he could feel her settle again and he spoke, “And Hermione?”

“Yes, Sirius.”

“Can it be my pick?”

“Yes Sirius,” she responded with a yawn.

“Good.”

He turned over onto his back and stared at the ceiling; he couldn't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone, it was very unfamiliar. He was nervous he realised, not of the act itself but what it meant, but it didn't mean he didn’t want more, to make the most of it. “Hermione, can we spoon?”

“If we do will you shut up?”

“Yes... Maybe,” he said with a smile leaking into his tone, “one last thing.” He reached around to his nightstand and casting a quick lumos before he waved his hand over her pyjamas, and the meowing cats changed into silently panting black dogs. “Much better.”

“I’m so glad you’re happy,” Hermione tutted, and he put his wand back before settling close behind her gently pushing his arm under her neck and resting the other at her waist.

“Hermione?” he asked again, this time right by the shell of her ear.

“Black if you don't shut the…”

“Aren't you glad you can yell at me again now?” She giggled, and he could feel the tremors running through her body.

“Sirius?”

“Hermione this better be important” he replied imitating her indignant tone. “What is it?”

“Why did you come over?”

“Because the film it didn't work …” he began, but she cut him off.

“Sirius.”

“Let me finish,” gripped her a little tighter, snaking his hands around her, so they joined across her middle. “The thing you did the charm work or whatever was all right, obviously fine as you know, it was you. But it wasn't the same without you there.”

It was easier to say now they weren't looking at each other, much simpler than when they spoke in the kitchen, for as raw as that had been he had made himself keep his distance, it was a lot easier to say what he had while she was tucked into him. “Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Why didn't you come over?”

She stilled, “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“It's a simple question,” he pressed gently.

“I know…. I just….I can’t give you an answer. Not right now at least, not honestly,” she finished quietly.

“Was it that you didn't want to see me?”

“No, it… it wasn’t that.”

“Is whatever it was going to make you do it again?”

She slid her hands to rest over his, “I… I don’t think that's possible anymore.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sirius woke up slowly, his head moving into the pillow as he belatedly realised that his nose itched. He sleepily attempted moving a hand to brush his hair out of his face, but he came across more than soft bedding. He opened his eyes taking in the fact that his arms were very much full and it wasn’t his hair that was bothering him, it was the brown cloud of curls that was cascading from the little witch who had her head tucked under his chin. Hermione must have turned around at some point in the night, and he had somehow managed to lose his t-shirt. Given that he had never really been one for any… confinement at night, he supposed he should be grateful that he had at least managed to keep his boxers on, well at least until that was likely to be welcome.

The covers had been pushed down to their waists, the sun coming in through the crack in the curtains making the room warm. Hermione had one arm wrapped around his middle, the shaggy dog adorned cotton swamping her slim limb. Both his arms were still wrapped around her securely, meeting at the small of her back.

Hermione stirred in his arms, and he instinctively tightened his grip, she blinked, her dark lashes fluttering against her pale skin and he buried his head against her shoulder. “Morning poppet.”

“... Sirius?” she asked groggily, and he laughed.

“I know this feels like a fantasy Hermione, but I promise you I’m really here.”

She snorted against his chest before pulling back a little to meet his gaze, “What time is it?”

“Early,” he replied noncommittally, rolling onto his back and pulling her along with him, so her torso was resting against his chest. After making a muffled squeak in protest to the sudden movement, she propped her chin up on his chest and ran a hand over her face to wipe the sleep from her eyes.

“For you? Or for regular people,” she questioned finally, and he pinched at her sides.

“If you still want that promised coffee Miss Granger I suggested you work on your bedside manner.”

“There is nothing wrong with my bedside manner,” she responded tartly, laying her cheek back against his chest, “this is my inbed manner, and I concede it could use a little work.”

“Nonsense,” he retorted quietly, and the hot breath of her laugh ghosted across his skin.

If last night had been in any way planned he might have had a moment's worry before now about what the morning was going to be like. He was slightly startled by how normal it felt, how unawkward. He supposed nothing physical had happened, their embrace had been affectionate, not passionate, about comfort, not lust. It certainly wasn’t what friends did, but then, he had never wanted to just be her friend. He was tired, the film hadn't ended till late, and despite his vague promises of shutting up he had continued to chat to her into the small hours, she was funny when you got her on her own when she wasn’t so focussed on a thousand other things. Lack of sleep notwithstanding he hadn’t had an interrupted slumber since before Azkaban, not as deep as that anyway, he certainly couldn't remember the last time he woke up naturally. All in all, he was in no rush to leave his current situation.

“What time do you need to be in today?” he asked softly, moving one hand from Hermione’s back to rest on the hand she had on his torso.

“I don’t; I’m off.”

“No rush then,” he ventured, hoping that she wouldn't want to jump up, or worse send him packing anytime soon.

“No… would you… I mean…” she began falteringly but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a skittish stag stomping into the room bringing with it the unwelcome sound of Harry’s voice.

“Hermione…. You… I…. Ginny has gone into Labour! Can you come to St Mungo’s? Everyone is going to meet us there.”

The message was as effective as a bucket of water on the atmosphere in the room, Hermione instantly wrenched herself from his grasp and ran into the hall, presumably in the direction of the bathroom. Sirius got up eagerly, though more calmly and pulled his clothes on that he had left around the bed. It only just occurred to him that he hadn't mentioned to anyone that he wasn't coming home, he wondered if Harry had started to suspect yet.

“Crap crap,” Hermione blurted as she ran back into the bedroom, pulling a jumper on and sending her hair everywhere. “Have you seen my handbag? I know it was in here somewhere, I saw it last night, but now I just don’t know where it is, will you help me look, we need to get going and I…”

“Hermione,” he interrupted gently, walking over to her and passing her the bag from the floor, that she had walked past twice. “You need to calm down kitten; you don’t have to do anything today, you just need to be at the hospital.”

“I know but I wasn’t there, and he sounded so scared Sirius,” she breathed out in a rush, and he took the bag back out of her grasp before gripping her chin softly, forcing her to look up at him.

“He’s about to be a dad, he’s anxious, not scared, and in any case, this one isn’t on you okay?”

Hermione stilled and lifted her hand to her chest as her breathing calmed, “Yes, you’re right… I’m sorry, just… a habit I guess.”

“Don’t apologise,” he replied, “do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Come on then, let's go. Floo?”

“Floo,” she confirmed, and he reached out to grip her hand in his, he wasn't sure if it was to comfort her or himself, maybe both of them.

* * *

Sirius was forcibly reminded of how much he hated hospitals as soon as they walked through the floo at St Mungo’s. The iridescent whiteness, the shuffling quiet, the smell. As they were directed to the maternity ward waiting room he was silent, lost to replaying memories he’d sooner have forgotten; flashes of standing at bedsides during the first war, his friends, people he had brought in as part of his Auror duties. Then after he’d come back, when he had been sent here for a seemingly endless barrage of tests. The Ministry weren't all that keen on the ‘unexplained’ and had made it very clear, from the off, that ‘cooperation’ was the only route for him. He would probably have still been there, tucked away in some back room, if it hadn’t been for Harry insisting that he was released, Remus making some very teethy threats and Hermione…. He’d forgotten what she said.

He was packing his stuff up after the latest round of testing had been completed. Harry had thrown his full ‘war hero’ weight around and had gotten a directive signed by Shacklebolt to ensure his release. The healers and Ministry officials had been distinctly shirty with him since the order had come from above and he hadn't been left alone since. There was one in the room then, skulking in the corner and badgering on about how he could still ‘change his mind’, now that they could no longer insist on his ‘collaboration’.

“What you seem to misunderstand Mr Black is the damage you are doing to wizardkind,” Mr Jakes said in his nasally voice, “the mysteries of the veil have never been within our understanding, but now they could be with you, you hold the key, your mind or your physiology, if you allow us to continue testing…”

“I think he’s done enough for wizarding kind don’t you?” a sharp voice interrupted suddenly, and both men turned to face the door. Hermione was there, he had only seen glimpses of her since coming back, and he still couldn't quite resolve himself that the young woman she was now was really her. “Two wars, two years on the run and twelve spent wrongly accused in Azkaban, I would say that's more than enough.”

She turned to face him, leaning away from the door and taking a few steps into the singled-bedded ward. “Hello Sirius, it's me today I’m afraid, Harry has booked a few days off but there is a trial he is needed at so he couldn't get here to met you.”

“I don’t need a minder,” he bit back, irritated with her presumption. He wasn’t an invalid, and he had his wand.

“Of course not,” she answered placatingly, and he caught her glance at the lurking form in the corner, “though you might need someone to watch your back, wouldn't want anyone faking your consent after all.”

Mr Jakes spluttered indignantly, “such slanderous accusations Miss Granger you forget yourself…”

“I do not,” she corrected tonelessly, and Sirius looked at her like he’d never seen her before, which in a way was true, he had never met this version of Hermione. “I remember you during the war, Mr Jakes, I remember what department you worked in, and I saw your quotes in The Daily Prophet. As a muggle-born never apprehended by your former unit, despite your best efforts, and loathed by your previous boss, understand that I know perfectly well who I am. The Ministry has a long association with doing things for the best of wizarding kind; I am just here to ensure it does not forget itself in its pursuit of it.”

She reached for one of Sirius’ bags and he didn’t protest. “Are you ready to go?” she asked brightly, and he only nodded.

When they had gotten out into the corridor, he struggled to keep up with her determined steps. “I would have thought you would have been all for keeping me there Hermione after all isn’t the ‘learning experience’ too good to pass up,” his tone was scathing though she didn't react in anger as he had been expecting.

Her quick strides paused, and she turned to look at him, her eyes strangely impassive, “never at the cost of someone's life Sirius, and believe me after everything that happened during the war, sometimes you're just better off not knowing.”

Looking back maybe that was the trigger for where he was now, at least the beginning. He had fallen into default behaviour when Hermione had arrived that day, he was unhappy, and he had taken it out on her. Back when he was locked in Grimmauld on the run, he could effect nothing in the world around him, but he could always get a rise out of Hermione. When he came back he realised that it wasn’t going to work anymore, then a few months after that, he came to see that the reaction he wanted had never really been anger at all.

Yet the witch that had been sitting next to him since their arrival only bore a passing resemblance to the witch that defended him so staunchly that day. Hermione had been bouncing around, talking ninety to the dozen and it had been all he could do to keep a civil tongue in his head. Made even more difficult through a lack of sleep and that they had left the house before he had been able to deliver on the promised coffee, as such he had jumped up to visit the canteen as soon as she had mentioned being thirsty, buying two cups of what passed for coffee there and came back to find Hermione biting her nails. She almost leapt out of her seat when he stopped in front of her and Sirius nearly bit through the side of his tongue to stop himself from shouting.

She tilted her head to the side looking at him knowingly. “That thing about kid gloves is mutual Sirius.”

“Thank Merlin,” he exhaled, “Sit fucking still for five minutes, would you? Your jangling my nerves.”

He thought he had gone too far for a second until she reached forward and snatched one of the coffees out of his hands, holding her lip down with her teeth to suppress a giggle. “I don’t imagine your pureblood training would have allowed you to talk to a lady like that Sirius Black.”

“My ‘pureblood training’, as you aptly put it, would not have allowed me to talk to you at all,” he retorted in an aristocratic drawl worthy of his father, and she tried to suppress laughter long enough to blow on her beverage.

* * *

Hospital waiting rooms were one of those places that seemed to warp time, after what felt like ten hours but was only actually forty-five minutes Hermione had calmed down a little, and they were stretched out on the uncomfortable chairs waiting for the others to get there.

A figure walked passed the open door, wearing a white coat and desperate for any news Hermione and Sirius both sat up to attention. Apparently sensing the action the figure, the young man, stopped and glanced in their direction his initially vacant expression suddenly taking on a large amount of warmth. “Hermione?”

Hermione stood, stepping forward as the doctor came further into the room. “Terry, how wonderful to see you, I didn't realise you were here now.”

“Yes,” he answered brightly, “I finished the first round of training last year so am a resident now.”

“That's fantastic news.”

“What about you, nothing serious I hope?” Sirius bristled as the doctor seemed to use his question as an excuse to run his eyes over her. Having run straight from the bed that morning Hermione’s hair was wilder than normal and she had a couple of smudges under her eyes, residual traces of the day before's make-up, the boy seemed to find it as alluring as Sirius did judging by the shark-like grin that swept across his face.

“No, I’m fine” she waved off his concern.“Ginny’s having her baby.”

“Wow, that's… we’re still so young,” the kid responded, and Sirius almost laughed out loud at the very real fear in his face.

“I know,” Hermione answered non-committally.

“And you?”

“Well, I’m not having a baby…” Hermione teased, and Sirius was beginning to get a little impatient.

“No I know I meant,” Terry cleared his throat, “You still at Gringotts?”

“Yes I...”

Sirius got to his feet, “another drink poppet?”

Hermione whipped around to face him, and he was sure he saw a little flash of relief in her eyes. “Oh I’m sorry, Terry this is Sirius Black, Sirius this is Terry Boot, we were at Hogwarts together.”

Sirius stepped forward languidly to grip the young whelps hand, possibly a little harder than necessary.

“Anyway,” Terry said turning back towards Hermione, “We should get together, have a drink sometime?”

“Yeah, that would be great, I’ll get a gang of us together,” she nodded.

“Great, I must go, say congrats to Ginny and Potter for me?”

“I will.”

Then thankfully he was gone, Hermione seemed to have forgotten Sirius’ offer of a drink which was a good job as it had been a ploy and he was even less willing to leave her now, in case someone else turned up in his absence. Hermione resumed her seat, and Sirius’ eyes tracked the boy as he disappeared down the corridor.

“He was coming onto you,” he stated definitively as Hermione leafed through an ancient looking Witch Weekly.

“Who Terry?” she replied absentmindedly, “No he wasn't, he just wanted to have a catch-up.”

Sirius huffed wrapping his arms over his chest. “Funny how he just invited you for a drink then, with no mention of the others.”

“Everyone knows that Harry, Ron and I are a package deal,” she protested still not looking up, and Sirius gaped at her.

“I'll thank you not to say that in the context of a sexual situation, it conjures images my mind is not able to process.”

Hermione merely raised an eyebrow, her eyes continuing to skim down the page.

“Good looking, though,” he pressed.

“Is he? I didn't notice,” she answered in an airy tone, and he grumbled under his breath.

“Witch.”

Hermione sighed putting down the magazine in defeat. “I wouldn’t know Sirius; he’s not my type, were he a muggle he would probably really like golf and spend his summers walking around with pastel coloured sweaters thrown artfully over his shoulders.”

Sirius ran his fingers across his stubble to suppress his grin and laid his head back in the chair. “So what is then?”

“What is what?” she answered bemused.

“Your type,” he clarified impatiently.

Hermione smiled wickedly at him, “A gentleman wouldn't ask.”

“Well, if one ever asks you be sure to reprimand them for his impertinence.”

“Sirius.”

“Yes?”

“Do shut up,” she sighed, and leant her head on his shoulder, “a passing ex-convict invited himself into my bed last night, and I'm rather tired.”

Sirius shifted, so her head was more comfortably positioned, pulling his arm around her back and laying his head against her curls. “Are you in the habit of letting strange men into your bed Hermione?” he asked huskily.

“No, not at all. But this particular one was quite determined.”

“I’ll bet he was.”

He could see her eyes beginning to blink heavily, and he pressed a kiss on her forehead, “go to sleep poppet, I’ll wake you as soon as anything happens.”

* * *

That was how Remus found them.

Sirius had managed to wandlessly levitate a magazine over to his knee, not having wanted to draw his wand from his back pocket lest it disturbed the sleeping witch in his arm, keeping silent guard as he had so often done in his Padfoot form for his friends while a school.

His friend strode into the waiting room carrying a sleeping Teddy in his arms, explaining how Tonks would be along later. His face had turned contemplative as he took in Hermione’s position, she had struggled in her sleep an hour or so before and fearing she was about to dip into a nightmare Sirius had picked her up off her seat and placed her in his lap, rubbing a hand up and down her back and whispering words in her ear until she had calmed back down. He supposed he should have put her back after but she had burrowed into his chest and he couldn’t bring himself too.

As the werewolf's eyes took on a delighted gleam, Sirius narrowed his eyes at him, “Not a fucking word Moony.”

“Would I?”

* * *

 

When they were eventually told the event had happened the waiting room was now full to the rafters, and the Mediwitch informed them that only two could come in at a time. Much to Mrs Weasley’s distress, Harry had requested Sirius and Hermione. Not wanting to stick around for the protests Sirius had tugged her out of the room, Hermione having long since woke up when the room had become bursting with visitors.

The scene behind the door was overwhelming and very, very familiar. The tired looking redhead on the bed and the starry-eyed, tear stained man at the side of the room. Sirius was gripped with such a competing wave of happiness and total grief that he steadied himself against the door for a moment while Hermione rushed forward to wrap Ginny in a hug, pushing her hair off her sweaty face and murmuring words of praise in an almost constant babbling stream. It was the familiar sound that got him moving again, Hermione’s calming tones pulling him back into the present till he rounded the bed and pulled his first godson into a bone crushing hug until himself and Hermione swapped places.

The young couple looked tired and rumpled but happy, so, so happy.

“So who wants to have first hold?” Ginny asked excitedly.

‘Ladies first,” Sirius replied graciously, and Hermione beamed at him.

She went over to the little cot stationed in the far corner and gently pulled out the swaddled baby, tucking him under her arm. He had a thick tuft of darkish hair poking out from his soft blue knitted hat, and his little eyes were shut.

She reached her fingers into the bundle and gripped one of his tiny hand as tears ran down her cheeks. “Hello James, my name is Hermione though I understand that is going to be tough for you to pronounce for a while so you can call me whatever you like.” Harry gave a watery chuckle, and Hermione wiped a hand over her face. “I am so, so happy to finally meet you, little man,” she continued and then, as she gently stroked his cheeks, his eyes popped open, dark hazel meeting warm brown until the intense stare off was broken by baby James’ fierce yawn.

“Sirius did you see?” she called excitedly, “Sirius look,” she bade, totally unnecessarily, he couldn't take his eyes off her.

“I'm looking love; I'm looking.”


	6. Chapter 6

No matter what life had thrown at him, it never ceased to amaze Sirius how the whole world could change in the course of a single day, and it had certainly shifted on its axis as baby James came into the world. Quite simply, Potter’s had underpinned his life, each meeting marking a moment in time when his life changed direction. Accidentally encountering James on the Express, meeting his parents for the first time over summer, Lily getting married, Harry being born, James… James being gone. Those occasions, the deep emotional peaks and troughs, frozen in his mind, like the stars that made up the constellation he was named for, they outlined his path.

Baby James turned Grimmauld Place upside down more so than any remodelling could have hoped to achieve. It was beautiful to see Harry and Ginny so happy, and with all the people that were so often visiting, for the first time in his memory the halls of his childhood home were continually filled with joy and laughter.

It wasn't wholly easy. Though the young couple were obviously exceedingly grateful for his help, Sirius couldn't avoid periods of extreme melancholy; they seemed to creep up on him, hitting at the most unexpected of times. The sharp pain in his chest from the haunting sense of deja vu from the hospital followed him around even after they had gotten home. Flashes of Godric’s Hollow and his friend, his old friend, when he had first brought home his new family. For the first time since returning from the veil, Sirius felt a muted echo of his emotional state while on the run. When he lost hours, hiding himself away with buckbeak in the attic, looking at old photos, refusing to talk to anyone.

He wasn't sure the first time he saw the look mirrored on Remus’ face, the signs must have been there from the start, but he didn't pick up on it till some weeks later. They were lingering in the back of the room, making way for another houseful of visitors and he saw it, amongst the relief and joy, the incredibly recognisable burst of complete despair.

But it was different for his friend, painful as it was for Remus to mourn their departed brother he went home to his family. Though they often joked about the terrible fates that had befallen them in their lives, stupid drink induced games of ‘who’s had it worse’, Sirius found he had no desire to ‘win’ anymore.

The little family he lived with was a constant reminder of everything he had missed out on. James would have been a grandfather now, and Sirius was still alone. He could have already had a child Harry’s age or slightly younger. They had talked so much about it as kids, especially himself and James, raised as members of the pureblood elite marriage was a way of life, you just did it. Even as rebellious as Sirius had always been he had never anticipated in his wildest dreams that he wouldn't get married someday. Back then their only worry, as a gang of fourteen-year-old boys, was that their future wives would get on, not separate them, and not get in the way of their escapades.

He had seen Hermione glance over at him a few times, her eyes holding a measure of worry as he began to move himself to the sidelines. He was there for Harry whenever he needed, he had made a promise, and he wouldn't break it, but when there were others there, he would allow himself to take a step back, to breath. The scene in the hospital had twisted the lens in which he saw things with Hermione; everything came into a crisper focus. He had eventually gotten his first hold once Hermione had stopped crying long enough to be able to pass the baby over. She had lingered after James was safely encased in his arms, still running her little finger over the baby’s cheek. Harry had tried to pull her away, teasing her about how it was ‘Sirius’ turn’ but when she went to comply Sirius had held onto her, pulling on the end of her sleeve and willing her to continue standing next to him. Their eyes had met for a second, and she said nothing at whatever raw expression was on his face but her eyes softened and she stepped back to her former place. ‘We have to learn to share’, he had said, to the amusement of the tired young couple. But in truth, as much as he was revelling in their happiness, he couldn't help himself from falling into fantasy, even if just for a few moments, where the scene would be slightly different.

He’d known for a while that he was falling in love with her, gentle as their course had been he had still felt it, what he hadn’t been prepared for was how deep it resonated, the hold it had over him. He seemed to know whenever she entered a room and so her little worried glances did not go unheeded. He should have been worried that Hermione could see through him so clearly, but he didn't have the energy. It was comforting in a way. That silent offering of support, he knew she would be there to listen if he… when he, wanted to talk about it, and yet at the same time he couldn't bring himself to. He worried that if he opened that tap, opened it with her in her warm house, in her soft presence, that he wouldn't be able to turn it off. He would admit everything he was beginning to feel, and he wasn't quite ready for that. That required a kind of reckless bravery, a type of which he was famous for, but for right now he didn't want to test the waters.

Though he didn't cut her out, there was no turning back now, and he didn't want her to misconstrue his feelings. He had gone over there again, but he hadn't stayed, staying again would have been a conscious decision in a way that it hadn’t been before, it would have meant talking, how did you say I’m to racked by grief to allow myself you? Not that it seemed to matter, Hermione seemed to understand everything without a great declaration. He had gone over one evening, escaped the baby’s crying and allowed the Potter’s some family time. She had made dinner, and they ate at the kitchen table, she told him about her day and when she slapped his hand away from making a start on her dessert she grabbed it for just a moment squeezing it tightly, an act of solidarity and compassion, and then went back to her story without another word.

He needed to get better he realised, start the work of burying the regret and the guilt of the previous two decades. Where once he would have buried his pain in the bottom of a bottle he had no desire for that anymore, not to those excesses at least. As he helped her clear away the table, watching her pad around in her slippered feet, he thought about the house with the black lacquered door, wondering whether Hermione would be able to make it as warm as this place if he asked, when he asked.

* * *

Despite the elaborate and extensive pre-parties that had been laid on before baby James’ arrival, there was an abundance of enthusiasm for a follow-up, predictably at the Burrow. Though it had started earlier in the day most of the guests hadn't started arriving till the evening, Minerva had offered to take Teddy and James up to read a bedtime story as the numbers began to swell in the gardens but amongst the smiles of thanks sent in her direction Sirius had narrowed his eyes at the supposed ‘selflessness’ of her act. He knew Minerva as well as anyone, and he would have bet half his gold in Gringotts that her real motivations were more aligned to an attempt to instore some decorum into the future marauders before they were ruined by their parents and then packed off to Hogwarts.

Sirius had forced himself to be a little more social that evening, he had been spending far too much time in his thoughts of late and it was time for a forcible extraction, he had also missed a certain curly-haired witch who he hadn't been spending nearly as much time with, he hoped to go some way to apologising as soon as she arrived later.

Finally prying himself from a circle of older former Order members Sirius walked back into the kitchen to pour himself a drink, coming across Fleur who was busying herself with replenishing food. “You’re looking as radiant as ever,” he greeted smoothly, passing her a glass of wine.

“Charmer,” she retorted good-naturedly as they clinked their glasses.

“Where’s your other half this evening?”

“At work, he should be coming along later with Hermione.” Sirius nodded, Hermione had owled him the day before to let him know she would be late, “So,” Fleur continued, “I’m glad I caught you alone, I need a favour.”

“From me? What do you need?” He responded intrigued.

“My friend from France is here, Mirla,” Fleur turned towards the window, pointing out to a brunette sat at a nearby table under the full beam of the Weasley twins ‘charms’. “I was wondering if I could introduce you both and then maybe you could watch out for her a bit? I have a list of tasks from Molly who…” she dropped her voice and did a covert glance around the room, “...is a little put out that Hermione isn’t here. I want to make sure they're done before she shows up, so she doesn't spend the rest of the evening waiting on everyone else.”

Sirius regarded the French girl with a critical eye, “and I'm the candidate for most social?”

Fleur sighed, “no probably not. But I trust you to be polite.”

“Fine,” he agreed a little poutily.

* * *

Fleur made the introductions with a significant amount of warmth in her tone, then just before she floated off in the other direction, a few words were exchanged between the two women in their native tongue too quietly for Sirius to catch.

At his suggestion, they moved to the edges of the party where some seating had been set, overlooking the main crush of the party and from the amount of alcohol that had been flowing the beginnings of the chaos that would come later.

Their conversation was polite at first, little inquiries until they could find some common ground large enough to sustain them comfortably. Somewhat unimaginatively that turned out to be France, Sirius had gone there a lot as a young boy and a few times during his escapades with Buckbeak. Mirla was.... sweet, he decided after twenty or so minutes. She had a nice laugh, it rang like a small bell and was in no way overdone or false sounding, and her eyes twinkled when she became excited. She was beautiful, almost as stunning as Fleur and that was saying a great deal. Though she had a darker quality, likely coming from the contrast between her long sable hair and dusky eyes set in her snow white skin.

After a while conversation between them was easy and Sirius found himself laughing at some of her observations of the party goers around them. She would have been exactly the sort of women he would have lusted after once upon a time, striking and just detached enough to make him work for it if he had shown an interested. If he had still been a young Auror in training he would have devoted the whole night to making her aware of the full range of charms in his repertoire, but not anymore. A few drinks later he began to realise that she was a little interested, Mirla leant forward a few time unnecessarily, closing the space between them her eyes lingered on his face. He did his best to dissuade her without being rude, sitting further back in his chair, subtly pointing out single men at the party though she didn't seem particularly discouraged.

As the night continued Remus finished his own ‘social lap’, and himself and Tonks moved to the back of the party to sit in front of Sirius.

“Dora?” Sirius said in greeting tipping the edge of his drink though her face remained unusually stoic.

“Cousin, how are you?” She answered in a strangely crisp voice that put him in mind of her mother right before she went on a tear.

He glanced across to Moony who was looking off in another direction not meeting his eye in a way that seemed deliberate. “I’m well, this is Mirla, a friend of Fleur’s from school,” he introduced, and the usual greetings echoed around them.

Talk turned to Teddy and Tonk’s job. She had been pulling long hours lately, a particularly difficult case that had seen her called into the office at strange times for over a month. Sirius would have been more mindful of Remus’ discomfort in talking about the dangerous details of the assignment had he not been so baffled by the stilted nature of the conversation; there was a tension that seemed to hover no matter how many questions he asked. In the end, still not able to meet his friend's eye he reasoned that he would grab him later to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

Hermione eventually arrived, though she was later than she had warned, she walked through the back door with Bill to a tirade of Molly's cries over how ‘thin’ and ‘tired’ she looked. Sirius snorted, something the knowing glance from his friend told him he hadn’t done as covertly as he intended, not that he could have held it in if he tried. Hermione didn't look anything of the sort; his eyes had gone to her as soon as he heard the door open, though she hadn't noticed him, too busy saying hello and being pulled into various directions for conversation. She looked relaxed and happy, she always did after she had been at work, it didn't matter how late they made her stay, she loved it, and it shone from her face. Sirius lost track of the conversation moving around him as he traced her path through the guests. She had apparently come straight from work; he supposed there wasn't time for her to stop at home, not that she would have typically bothered anyway. She had a simple shift dress on and her hair piled up on her head, loose tendrils falling around her face, her make up slightly smudged where she must have been rubbing her eyes at some point.

Fleur walked towards her, greeting her with a hug and pulling the clip out of her hair which must have been some reference to a private joke as both women laughed. He understood from Harry that the girls were very close, having bonded at Shell Cottage when Hermione had been in Fleur’s care, a relationship that had continued to strengthen now that they worked side by side. Hermione had remained pretty tight-lipped about her job at Gringotts, though he knew that Fleur was in the neighbouring office. Initially, he had been surprised by her hesitation to devolve much, suspecting her of being deliberately aloof but he knew better now. People rarely took an interest, so she kept her answers short and to the point. He managed to gather, through routine prodding, that she mainly dealt with delicate curse breaking, less storming the doors and blowing things up, more gentle assessment and dismantling. Not that the role was any less tough, but she didn't leave the base much, which was a comfort.

He had thought he had made some progress when despite his absence over the last few weeks Hermione sent him an owl excitedly telling him that the goblins had finally removed the guard on her office door, seemingly they now trusted her far enough to believe she would not attempt to steal a dragon in her lunch break. Sirius had wondered if she sent it because she thought it would make him laugh or because she knew that he, unlike so many of the rest, would be interested.

Hermione had eventually extracted herself from the majority of the guests, and Sirius was planning on calling her over when Tonks beat him to it, yelling in her direction and beckoning her over with a heavy wave. “You on the night shift?” she teased, and Hermione shoved her playfully.

“You’re one to talk,” she retorted in kind before saying a quiet hello to Remus, “no we just had this big thing on, Bill waited around for me so we could come together.”

Good man that Bill, Sirius thought approvingly. He turned to say hello himself, but he was once again beaten to it, this time by the witch on his left.

“Hi my name is Mirla,” she said in a warm tone, elegantly kissing both of Hermione’s cheeks and resuming her seat gracefully, laying one manicured hand on top of her crossed legs and moving the other to rest on Sirius’ jean clad knee. The move wasn’t exactly possessive, Sirius had made it enough times himself to know what the witch was about, she was risking a bolder gesture after her earlier advances had not received a response, thinking that he wouldn't reproach her in front of a crowd. Remus coughed into his glass and Tonks glanced at the action and then at Hermione, her hair gaining a red tint at the ends… so much for a fucking secret Moony.

Sirius only caught their expressions for a second he was more focused on the little witch still standing, her eyes lingered on the hand draped over him for a mere moment before she blinked heavily, looking back up with a brittle smile and the only thing he could read from her face was the desire to retreat. “Ah, does anyone want a drink?” she asked softly, and he wasn’t sure if anyone but him had seen the full bottle of butterbeer in her hands.

As Tonks prattled off her request, Sirius got to his feet, “I’ll come with you,” he offered.

“No, really it's fine,” she said dismissively taking a step back, moving as if to walk away.

“I insist,” he said with a determined tone, striding forward to catch her, directing her through the crowd with his hand at her back, he wasn’t going to let her run.

Hermione didn't say a word as they entered the kitchen and stood in front of the drinks table, her hands flew over glasses and bottles in a purposeful way, keeping her gaze fixed on the table. “Mirla seems lovely and so beautiful,” she said eventually as she began to pour the drinks, still not meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone quite that striking since I met Fleur for the first time.”

“Hermione…” he tried, but she ploughed on.

“Mirla, that means blackbird, doesn’t it? Shockingly appropriate wouldn’t you say?” she questioned in a rush, not that she gave him time to respond. “How about you Sirius, are you having a nice time? Molly seems to have pulled out all the stops again….”

“Don't do that Hermione,” he said in a hard voice, and it appeared to knock the wind out of her sails, her arms came up to wrap around her chest, and her head dropped further.

“What?” she asked weakly.

Sirius moved to stand behind her. “That polite small talk thing you're doing as if we don’t know each other.”

“I… I…” she threw her head back in frustration, “I’m trying not to react,” she whispered. Sirius could see her reflection in the window in front of them, her cheeks were red with mortification, and he leant around her to prize the glasses out of her hands, still chilly from the fading warmth in the garden, and linked his fingers with hers.

“I want you to react,” he said by her ear, as his thumbs traced circles over her palms.

“You want me to be jealous?” she asked incredulously.

“You're?” he stopped himself, wrong thing to focus on. “No, I don’t, there is nothing to be jealous of. She… Fleur asked me to look after her but… we were chatting that was all.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning back a little and letting her head rest against his shoulder.

“Don’t apologise, if it's not completely obvious by now I want you to care,” he admitted, and Hermione went rigid, just for a moment, but long enough to make him wonder whether he should have mentioned something at all. “Come on,” he sighed, “let's get back out there.”

But before he could pull away to grab his now full tumbler Hermione wrapped a delicate hand around his wrist and turned to face him. “Don't you… Don't you think you've had enough?”

“No,” he answered immediately, and she rolled her eyes at his smirk. “I said that I wanted you to boss me about poppet, I didn't say I was going to cow to your every demand.”

When they walked back into the garden he felt lighter than he had in weeks, he helped pass out the drinks and seeing that Hermione was intending to remain standing he resumed his position from the kitchen, moving close behind her, only this time he pulled her into his body with an arm banded around her waist and leant his chin on her head.

“Mirla this is Hermione,” he said with a wave of his hand between the two witches.

The French girl looked at him for a moment before glancing down to the witch, “It's lovely to meet you, Hermione, I've heard lots of things from Fleur.”

As the two girls chatted happily, Tonks gave him a smile, her hair back to his brightest pink, as he turned away he was sure he heard ‘good dog’, even more, sure as Remus began to splutter into his drink.

* * *

The major downside to having a baby in the house was the lack of sleep, not that it was James’ cries that kept Sirius up that particular night. No, that evening he had been once again consumed by memories, only these were far more pleasant than the ones that had been haunting him for weeks. Hermione pulled against him, her leaning back into his embrace, her fingers circled his wrists. He had been thinking on it for a week since the party, and after tossing and turning considerably that evening suddenly, he made a decision. Impulsively he grabbed a robe and headed downstairs and through the floo, barely having time to fully say her address before he was walking through the flames that painlessly licked at his feet. He looked at the sofa in the living room impassively for a moment shaking his head before quietly walking up the stairs. He didn't think he’d scare her, the floo was only keyed to some locations, and apart from himself, he couldn't imagine there was anyone that would just let themselves into her house at this time of night.

As he opened the door to her room he felt the anxiety that had been hovering over him dissipate, she was resting on one side of the bed, her mouth slightly open as her cheek laid on the far side of the pillow, fast asleep with her hand nestled between the pages of a shut book, a bedside lamp still lit.

“Hermione?” he asked softly, gently removing the book from the bed and placing it on the bedside table.

She stirred in her sleep, her legs moving beneath the covers. “What... what is it?” she asked groggily as she blinked up at him.

“Move over,” he said holding up the covers and flicking the light off as he climbed in after her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked into the darkness.

“Couldn't sleep,” he replied quietly, sinking into the familiar comfort of her bedding and her presence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he responded noncommittally though he reached behind himself to grab her hand.

Hermione shuffled forward as his hand sought hers, batting it away and wrapping her own around his torso from behind him on the bed, her chest to his back. Sirius huffed out a laugh. “Do you not think it's somewhat ridiculous for me to be the little spoon given that you don’t even come up to my shoulder?”

Hermione smiled into the skin of his back. “Not wanting to sound like you…

“...Heaven forbid.”

“... but everyone's the same height lying down,” she teased, and Sirius felt some of the tension leave his body. Careful of her he rolled over, placing his arms around her and pressing their foreheads together.

“You can come here you know.... if you need to,” she offered as her hands came up to rest on his chest.

He looked down, trying to make out what he could of her expression in the darkness of the room. “What about if I want to?”

Hermione leaned then, forward placing a gentle kiss onto the apple of his cheek. “Especially then,” she confirmed before moving back to brush some of his hair back out of his face. “Are you back now?”

“I'm right in front of you,” he replied confused.

“No,” she shook her head and her hair rustled against the pillows. She traced the pads of her fingers over his temples tapping at the side of his face. “Are you back from wherever you went in here?”

Sirius dropped his head to rest in the crook of her neck. “Yes,” he affirmed quietly, “Yes I’m back.”


	7. Chapter 7

Sirius went through the relatively organised pile of t-shirts in his draw, finally selecting a plain white one and putting it on before moving to stand in front of the mirror, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get it to sit right. The manoeuvre was incredibly economical in comparison to how he would have carried it out in his youth. Tens of minutes used to go by in the mornings before he had perfected his hair to complement the ‘i don’t care’ aura that he expressed through his appearance, which ironically took an awful lot of attention that and time. Nowadays too much fiddling revealed more of the greys that were beginning to poke through at his temples. Once upon a time, he might have paid more attention to it, he supposed it helped that they didn't look too bad, and of course, that Remus already had a lot more.

He pulled open the cupboard door sliding hangers over to find his preferred leather jacket, it was normally on the chair by the door, but it was curiously absent. When he got to the back of the cupboard with no joy Sirius stopped to think, could it still be at Hermione’s? He hadn’t been wearing it earlier, but he could have left it there the last time. He had stayed there a few nights of late, something that seemed fine to both of them. He typically hung around a little, stayed for breakfast or at least a cup of coffee if Hermione wasn’t going to work. He didn’t go over two nights running or overstay his welcome in the morning, but he realised that he wanted to stay more, that and people were starting to notice. He had received an owl from Remus that morning asking if he fancied a drink, out, and Sirius’ antenna for sincere conversations on the horizon was tweaked. Remus barely ever had time to go out anymore, catch up sessions between them were normally in one or the others kitchens, the fact that this would be out, just the two of them, in a pub they used to go to in their younger days prepared Sirius for his old friend's questions.

He would have been ready to go were it not for the lack of the jacket, he went down the stairs to floo over to Hermione’s to check her place, despite already having been over there that day. The little witch had been sick over the last week though Sirius only found out when he bumped into Bill in Diagon Alley. At first, he hadn’t thought anything of it till the eldest Weasley divulged that she hadn’t made it into work, as soon as that admission fell from his lips Sirius was immediately wrapping up the conversation so he could make it to the nearest apparition point. For her to miss work, he knew she would be feeling very poorly, and he was more than a little annoyed that she hadn’t told him.

The sight that greeted him when she opened the door was a very different kind of Hermione than the one he was used to. She didn't even question why he was there, or his unusual choice to knock on the front door. Her entire house was covered in tissue, boxes of new ones seeming to form a trail to everywhere she would possibly need them and crumpled up balls of used ones in little piles down the sides of chairs and along the skirting boards. As she trudged back down the corridor, after letting him in, he followed into the living room where the coffee table, that he still hadn’t forgiven, was almost groaning under the weight of the various drinks she had on the go.

Sirius sat on the chair opposite after she had pushed him away from sitting next to her, mumbling things in a too deep voice about how she was ‘contagious’ and ‘disgusting’. She slumped against the warm fabric, and he regarded her quietly, she was incredibly pale, apart from her nose, that was so red it looked raw in places. Her typically alert brown eyes were droopy and bloodshot, and she was wrapped in a cardigan that looked as if it had endured a harder life than him.

She allowed him to stick around for a couple of hours, but his hovering irritated her more than soothed, though he did manage to subtly clear up around her and make a few more hot drinks before she groggily insisted she was going to bed and he left her to it. As such when he came through the floo he tried his best to be as quiet as possible, not announcing herself in case she was still asleep. In the end, he nearly stumbled out of the fireplace, but this time it wasn't because of an unexpectedly relocated coffee table. There, in front of him, was Hermione, resting against the sofa, fast asleep, just as she had said she would be, though the ripped, tatty cardigan had gone and in its place was a jacket, his jacket, draped over her shoulders like a blanket, her face burrowed down into the collar, the faded leather covering most of her face. Her wilder-than-usual mane of hair cascaded over the back of it, obscuring the various zips and patches that had been added during his Auror years and her fingers gripped at the opening, holding tightly against the zipped edges, keeping it close around her.

Sirius immediately felt like he should leave, like he was interrupting a private moment like he was never supposed to see this. But he couldn't, his feet were welded to the floor as he regarded her and her quiet breathing. It must give her comfort, he realised slowly and his chest suddenly felt tight. He wasn’t an idiot and actually when it didn’t immediately concern him he was pretty good at reading signals from others. He knew that whatever they were doing Hermione was in it too, but, there had been the odd night, alone in his room, when flashes of Azkaban and Godric’s Hollow came back to him, and amongst the rolling compilation of low points of his life his traitorous mind would whisper that she was kind hearted, how he was mistaking pity and understanding for heartfelt affections. Standing in her living room, bathed in light from a single standing lamp as she clung to a piece of him he had left behind he knew that was wrong.

The clock on the wall chimed eight, and he collected himself, turning back to go, only to pause before grasping the powder, his open hand static over it for a moment as he processed his thoughts. As quietly as he could, he walked passed the sleeping witch and into the kitchen, opening doors almost silently until he found a box at the back of one of the cupboards, a clear box filled with hundreds of glass shards.

* * *

The bar was a bit hipper now than it had been back when it was one of their regular haunts, even the thought made Sirius feel old. Gone were the sticky floors and abused pool tables, replaced by quiz machines and a slightly limp looking cocktail menu. Not that they paid the changes any attention, anyone looking would have thought that the two men that entered were completely at home as they quickly ordered some beers and headed to a darkish corner, backs to the wall as per usual. It had been a while since Sirius had been out in muggle London and he was content to idly watch the goings on of the typical Sunday night, at least those things didn’t change. There was only a mere spattering of conversation, not unusual for the beginning of a lads night out, especially when Remus was working his way up to saying something, a stage he seemed to reach around the midpoint of their third drink.

“So,” his friend began, as Sirius’ eyes were fixed on a woman furiously punching the side of a fruit machine.

“Spit it out Moony,” Sirius encouraged, ignoring the way Remus’ head whipped around to face him. “Come on mate, did you really think I wouldn't sus that you had something to say? This is about Hermione right?”

Remus sighed, “if you knew you could have just brought it up at the start.”

“I could say the same to you,” Sirius countered, “we’ve been here over an hour.” Remus tilted his drink in a concession to the point, and Sirius continued, “I only have one question before you launch into it, are these your concerns or your wife's?”

“Concerns, as you put it, are mine, though that's not the word I would have chosen. As for my wife, I think she only wants confirmation of what she is sure is already happening,” he finished with a roll of his eyes that hinted to Sirius how often this, he, had been a topic in his friends home. “So what is going on?”

Being prepared for the question hadn’t made it any easier to answer, and Sirius faulted through his thoughts. “It’s... we haven't spoken about it,” he replied with a shrug and Remus stared at him incredulously. “It's there, whatever it is,” he tried to explain as he thought back to how she would wake in the morning, reaching for him before she had even opened her eyes properly, her warm fingers chasing away the clinging memories of the cold of the desolate rock in the North Sea. He inhaled quietly to bring himself back to the present. “It's ours, and it's private. She's not my friend or my girlfriend, but we’re somewhere in between, and I don’t know what the word for it is at the moment.”

“You’re staying there a lot,” Remus said directly, and Sirius had to bite back a laugh. One of the best things about Remus was his ability to cut through the crap, despite being hesitant to upset people he was still abundantly practical in ways that Sirius, despite his need for action, had never been.

“Define a lot?” He shot back, taking a swig of his drink as he mentally calculated the nights he had spent there recently, what was a lot anyway? He had been over there a few times, but as he doubted Hermione was going around telling people, he wondered if Harry had.

“You could be sending her mixed signals,” Remus postulated, and for the first time that evening Sirius bristled. He understood why Remus was doing it, had the shoe been on the other foot he would have done the same. Logically he knew his friend was as concerned for him as he was for Hermione but he was learning fast that the little witch, and his treatment of her, was something of a sensitive issue for him, no matter who was asking.

He placed his glass a little harshly on the battered table as he fixed a level stare at his friend. “How many times did you sleep with my cousin before Teddy was conceived?” He asked in an emotionless tone and Remus’ cheeks pinked. Sirius sat forward further, “and how many times did you wake up in the morning and tell her you couldn’t be together?”

“That's… it was different,” Remus responded weakly.

“It's worse,” Sirius huffed and threw himself back into his seat.

“I’m a werewolf,”

“And I’m a back from the dead ex-convict, don’t play the ‘no one understands’ card with me.”

Remus fiddled with his coaster for a moment before he seemed to catch onto a thread of what had been said. “You’re sleeping together?” he asked without accusation, and Sirius shifted his gaze to the bottom of his glass.

“Sharing a bed but…”

“Nothing intimate?” Remus offered, and Sirius barked out a mirthless laugh.

“I wouldn't say that… It's… Fuck it's really intimate, it's in my head and all over me and just fucking intimate.” He brushed a hand through his hair, “it's just not physical, at least not in that sense anyway,” he continued as he thought about their foreheads pressed together, her hands on his chest and her mouth on the side of his.

“That's not like you,” Remus’ said carefully and Sirius fought the urge to plant his face on the table.

“What me Moony?” he responded dejectedly, “The arrogant kid, finding some semblance self-worth and escape balls deep in some witch? Or the prison escapee drinking himself into an early grave he didn't even make it to.”

“I didn’t mean that you dick,” Remus responded harshly, shaking Sirius’ shoulder as if he could physically break him from his self-pity. “I meant, it’s not like you to stand back and let the grass grow under your feet.”

“No its… it's fine,” Sirius said, waving his hand dismissively, “it’s what everyone's going to think, isn’t it? That I’m chasing after a witch half my age because she’s a bit of skirt.”

“I somewhat doubt that,” Remus answered peevishly before waving towards the bar to call up another round before he sank back into the thread worn covers of his chair. “If you were interested in… well, that, there are easier ways to get it,” he made a subtle gesture to a group of women in the corner who were not doing a lot to hide their approving glances. Remus looked at him knowingly,“but you would rather pursue her, and only her, even though it's not without its challenges.” It wasn’t a question, and Sirius backed what was left in his glass, trying to organise his thoughts.

“Honestly Moony if this was all she ever gave… some days, I think it might be enough.”

“But you want more?”

“Of course I want more,” he snapped back though he wasn’t sure why he was getting angry, the obvious nature of the question or the pent up sexual tension, who knew?

“Then why aren't you going there?” Remus asked exasperated, and Sirius looked at him agog.

“You suddenly pro this? A minute ago you were accusing me of…”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything Pads,” Remus responded wearily, “and if you remember I was for this from the very start. I’m your friend, and that means I know you and how you react to situations. You have a way of fucking these things up.” Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but Remus shook his head warningly. “And before you say anything I know because it’s a shared trait, none of us were ever any good at letting other people in, apart from the four of us, or communicating with the girls we cared about. Just look at James with Lily…”

“At least he had the excuse of being a kid…”

Remus laughed self-deprecatingly, “never a truer word spoken,” he agreed before reaching for the fresh glass that had been placed in front of them. “In any case, all that time spent perfecting the map and strutting around the castle didn't do any of us any good regarding tamping down our egos or preparing us for reality. So, I’m just trying to understand; I’m in your corner Pads.”

Sirius nodded reaching for his drink wishing they had thought to start with something stronger before Remus continued, “So, why no declaration? You were never anyone to do things by halves.”

Sirius felt a kind of cruel twist in his gut at knowing the answer to this one; it had kept him awake at night of late, “Because going further doesn't mean you get to keep what you already have,” he said bitterly. “It’s not a game show; you don’t get to ‘bank’ what you have won if you decide to progress to the next round. We can't just try it to see what happens and then if it doesn't work out go back to this and fuck Moony; I really, really like what we have now. She’s smart, she doesn’t react to my bullshit, and she gives me space, but she’s still always there and maybe… I think for the first time since all of it, I think she might be my chance to be really happy.”

Remus placed his hand on his shoulder, the familiar weight grounding Sirius, he had said more than he would have freely admitted to anyone else, but he knew it was safe. Though Remus might share things with his wife he was aware that his emotional state was always off limits for wider discussion, as the bruises along his torso when he returned to school after summer in the third year, he didn’t have to say ‘don’t tell anyone’ it was implied.

“Something is going to have to give eventually,” Remus said as Sirius’ breathing slowed and he nodded in agreement.

“I know,” he vocalised finally, “But I like the pace it's going at now, it’s small walls coming down, small risks each time, we’re easing into it. I’m easing into it, but I want to go slow for Hermione as well because once she lets me in, totally and entirely there won't be any going back, I won’t be able to let go.”

“You still think there is now?”

No, Sirius’ mind whispered desperately. “I have no idea, I’m possessive enough as it is, any more might scare the shit out of her,” he griped, moving away from the depth of the topic.

“Or more likely make her angry at you,” Remus corrected.

“No, she’s seen me jealous,” Remus raised his eyebrows in silent question, and Sirius grinned a little. “At the hospital, some boy from school asked her for a drink, and I was a bit... bent out of shape about it.”

“Wonders will never cease,” Remus muttered, but Sirius ignored the caustic remark.

“I’m not completely sure she noticed, which doesn’t bode well for my chances of making her see how I feel…”

“... I somehow doubt that Pads, I’m pretty sure everyone’s noticed, even Ron was looking at you both the other day and he usually doesn’t pick up on anything outside of his eating circumference…”

“Yes thank you,” Sirius responded sarcastically, “I get it Moony, I lack the ‘artful sophistication’ of a more poetic creature like yourself maybe I should follow your example of running in the opposite direction from a bird until you impregnate them, confess your love and ask to marry them.”

Far from looking put out by his reductive view of his romantic life, Remus regarded him smugly, “yes, but as I sit here married it didn't work out too badly did it.”

“I think that was down to my cousin; she loved you so much it didn't matter that you were a prick about it.”

“Well,” Remus said, lifting his drink to offer cheers with his glass “let us hope that Hermione comes to regard you highly enough that she forgets what an insufferable prat you can be.”

As the drinks continued to flow the conversation turned to pleasant memories, stories told in the way they always were amongst good friends, where one party only had to suggest at a favourite tale before the other would chip in with highlights and laughter until both me had imbibed much more than their fair share.

“You know,” Remus said his eyes strangely glazed, “I think James would have liked her. Hermione I mean.”

Sirius shut his eyes for a moment, not sure whether the thought was reassuring or painful. “I think so too,” he eventually answered in a small voice, “I think he would have got it as well.”

“Got what?”

“Do you remember that time we got really drunk, think it was his seventeenth birthday?”

“Vaguely… The key bits anyway,” Remus confirmed.

“He was talking about ‘Evans’, he had been chasing her for all that time, and suddenly, in those last few months she had stopped shouting at him, had even said yes when he asked her to Hogsmeade like he did every month. Well, instead of being delighted, he was terrified, I think that was part of the reason he was so drunk, Prongs was all but passed out when I got over to the sofa he was on, ‘Pads how do you capture a star?’ he said, I looked at him like he was insane, he was always saying odd shit about her when he was pissed back then but that time it was different, he was scared, started talking about how imagining something was different to having it.” Sirius sat himself up from the slump he had been falling into and eyed Remus across that table, a familiar flash of drunken revelation burning through his mind, “That's the thing, isn't it? Hope is so beautiful but reality, reality is something you can fuck up entirely.”

“Do you know what Pads?” Remus said, his tone fairly reproachful, “I think that's always been your problem.”

“What's that?”

“Your flair for the fucking dramatic,” he sighed, whisking the remainder of Sirius’ drink out of his hands. “Of course it's not perfect, you wouldn't want it to be, and apparently you don't want some stupid ideal because, against all the odds, you seem to have picked someone that is compatible with you beyond the aesthetic values required for a quick release.”

Sirius growled slightly at the thought of Hermione being viewed in such a way, even though that was the opposite of his friend's point, but Remus wasn’t finished.

“Real life is messy, disorganised and filled with variables, but chaos is what happens when you let people in.

My wife struggles to remain upright for more than thirty minutes at a time; she can't cook to save her life and yet insists on trying, serving things I'm pretty sure could poison me. She does a job that makes me worry whenever she leaves the house and,” his voice cracked, “And I pushed her away so much at the start that I did real damage to the relationship, to her. So much so that I have to be so careful of what I say in rows in case I end up doing it again, end up bringing up all of that pain and rejection. It’s hard, and it's complicated, but I love her Pads, really, really love her, and no abstract thought of her was ever better than the muddled, convoluted truth we live in now.”

* * *

By the time himself and Remus had their fill of booze Sirius was in no fit state to argue against himself when he decided that he didn't want to go home. Drifting through the first wizarding pub, they came across he shouted Hermione’s address a little too loudly and flipped the bird to Remus who was regarding him with a slightly sleepy version of his usual smug expression.

Hermione was on the sofa still, but she looked as if she had gotten up and risked a shower at some point, the ends of her curls were damp and clung to her nightshirt, leaving tiny pockets of darkened cotton. His jacket was absent, but he dismissed it quickly, stepping forward to her side as he bent down in front of her. Taking in the awkward angle of her neck and the tangle of bedsheets around her slim legs he reached underneath her gently cradling her against his chest, one arm supporting her back as the other came under her knees. He approached the stairs carefully, conscious of just how pissed he was and she stirred in his arms as he wobbled a little over half way up, her bunged up breath rasping against the side of his neck.

“How goes it Snuffles?” he asked affectionately, running a finger over her hot cheek and almost missing a step as he stopped carefully watching where he was going.

“You’re Snuffles, not me,” she answered sleepily, one eye blinking before the other.

“Not today.”

She stretched against him, her nose colliding with his chin, “Are you drunk?”

He didn’t see the point in lying to her; she could probably smell it on him. “Well on my way.”

“Where did you go?” she asked, her voice sounding a little garbled in an odd way that made her sound a little like she did when she’d had too many drinks after celebrating the Twin’s birthday. He raised an eyebrow at her; they had already had this conversation, “Out with Moony,” he replied carefully taking in the droop of her eyes and the slight shake in her hands. “Poppet, have you been mixing your potions?” he asked as he stopped in the landing and laid a hand against her burning forehead.

She giggled against his chest, “Have to go to work tomorrow,” she responded, and Sirius eyed the ceiling with a particularly withering glare and a muffled curse.

“Of all the stupid… fuck Hermione… Not if I have anything to say about it you won’t” he murmured.

As they made it into her room he pulled the covers on her bed back awkwardly before dropping her in, watching as she curled herself into a ball and then, pushing the hair back off her face, stretched out the corner of the cover in invitation. Feeling himself sober up instantly he kicked off his boots, shrugged out his jacket and belt and climbed in, sitting himself up against the headboard so he could keep an eye on her. He smiled in spite of his worry when she edged forward and pressed herself against his side.

“Hermione?” he asked softly, pushing her hair back from her hot face, “how are you feeling?”

“M’ok,” she murmured, “Did you have a nice time?”

“Yes, I did” he replied as he brushed his fingers through her hair.

“Will you stay?” she asked suddenly her wide eyes looking up at him in the darkness.

“Of course love, as long as you will have me,” he answered with a smile, and she returned it before laying back against him.

He held her as she fell asleep soundly, fighting against the little voice whispering at him to wake her, to ask all of his questions while she was under the effects of what seemed like far too much pepper up and flu tonic. He shut it out; he knew that was the wrong thing to do. Instead, he just held her, eventually sinking into the mattress and watching her sleep, formulating a plan of attack over how he would keep her off work the next day.


	8. Chapter 8

Far from the usual sedate pace of his mornings at Hermione’s home, Sirius woke up when a heavy weight roughly collided with his stomach. He gasped, winded and opened his eyes in time to register Hermione trying to inelegantly clamber over him, moving to the edge of the bed. Reacting instinctively, before his mind had properly woken up he snaked his arms around her waist, securing her against him.

“Where are you going?” he asked against her shoulder.

“I have to get up,” she replied, in a barely there voice that sounded as if it must have been painful for her to speak at all, though it had at least lost the wavy nature it had the day before.

“Hermione,” he said as sternly as he could muster but she just continued wriggling.

“Sirius let me go,” she demanded in a pained whisper, and he released his arms reluctantly, throwing his head back against the pillows and sighing loudly. He tilted his head in time to watch her place one leg down with no small amount of trepidation, in spite of her insistence she was clearly wary of her ability to do as she wished.

Sirius’ watched her extending the pale limb and placing weight on it gradually, looking very much like a child dipping a toe into the shallow end of a pool. As it turned out, it was a good job he had stayed observant, as soon as Hermione leant her full weight on the leg she wobbled violently, thankfully Sirius had enough time to throw himself forward and wrap his arms around her, dragging her backwards before she lost balance, both of them falling back onto the bed, her body clamped against his chest.

“No you don't,” he protested, taking note of the cold skin of her back.

Hermione panted roughly before blowing a sharp breath upwards in an attempt to move the curls that had fallen onto her face. After waiting to ensure she wouldn't try to get up again Sirius pulled the band out of his hair, gently pulling her damp curls back and securing them out of her face before placing the back of his hand over her forehead, she was roasting.

“Fine, you win,” she uttered finally, once she had got her breath back, “I’ll stay home,” she conceded with more than a little reluctance before sagging against him.

Sirius shook with silent laughter; he didn't think it was worth mentioning that it was more a case of her losing, nobody liked a gloating winner after all.

* * *

Once he was positive Hermione wouldn't try to escape, though only because she knew she wasn’t able, Sirius went down to the kitchen to send a note to her office and to get her some tea. Her voice still sounded like shit and though she was adamant that she didn't want anything he was learning fast not to believe a single word she said when it came to how she was feeling.

He wrote a quick note on a piece of parchment, explaining Hermione’s absence for the day, he hesitated wanted to say that she wouldn't be back tomorrow either but eventually decided against it, he was certain she wouldn't thank him. Rolling up the small script he moved to the window to strap it to her owl who was watching him with some interest, apparently eager to be given a task. Her bird, Darcy, was a great deal more mild mannered than her familiar, and he had often wondered at her choice of him, the owl’s calm temperament seeming at odds with everyone else that called the house home. Darcy had no trouble taking commands from someone other than her and swiftly flew out of the window.

Once the owl became a dot in the sky, Sirius busied himself in the kitchen, thankful he had spent so much time carefully watching Hermione now that he was on his own trying to work out the kettle. He moved around the room more carefully than before, locating cups and gently laying them on the worktop, anxious not to break anything else lest he find out it was somehow precious to the sick witch upstairs.

He had just finished smugly pouring the drinks, with an overwhelming sense of victory when the little bird made it back. Darcy tapped once on the window, announcing himself before coming in and displaying the return message he had brought with a dainty cocked leg and a chest puffed out with pride at a job well done, Sirius barked out a laugh. It might not have been a snarling, hissing monster like Crookshanks but suddenly Hermione picking out this bird at the menagerie made a whole heap of sense.

He unfurled the note quickly, rewarding the bird with a treat and a pat on the head that he all but melted into.

_Dear Sirius_

_Thank you so much for letting us know that Hermione will be unable to come into work today, we have been worried about her. Please ensure she KNOWS she is not to return until she is FULLY recovered. If she attempts to come back before she will be promptly sent home._

_May I say how surprised I was to receive this note from you? And at such an early hour too! I do hope you are planning on sticking around and looking after my girl today? Hermione was due to meet myself and Tonks this evening, but I will be sure to let Mrs Lupin know that Hermione has… alternative arrangements. We will come along later to relieve you of your... duties._

_Bonne journée_   
_Fleur_

Sirius dropped the note onto the table unsure if he should be pissed at the tone or not, eventually deciding to shrug it off. It wasn’t like it was a secret he stayed there, and as Remus had no doubt given Tonks a broad outline of what was going on, at minimum, they would have to face everyone else sooner rather than later.

* * *

Hermione was thankfully still where he left her when he got back up the stairs, balancing the tray. He announced himself proudly looking to show off his new found kitchen expertise but his step faltered when he saw her curled up on top of the covers. She was pale and so clammy her nightshirt seemed to be sticking to her. He placed the tea down on the bedside table and felt her head again, she felt warmer, but he couldn’t be certain, he ran hot himself, and it could have just been his worry tricking him.

“Sirius?” she asked as he sat down next to her.

“Yes, love.”

“I feel gross,” she admitted with a grimace, “I want to get in the bath.”

“Okay,” he answered quickly wondering if he could make a start on breakfast while she got cleaned up until a faint flush covering her cheeks caught his attention.

“Will you help me?” she whispered, not meeting his eyes and Sirius swallowed.

“Sure.”

He gathered her up hastily, less she changed her mind again, forcibly reminding himself that he had carried her a few times before, granted never to anywhere that she was going to get naked when he put her down, but still.

He placed her gently on the loo seat, handing her a glass of water in an attempt to cool her down and started to fill the bath, the gushing water the only sound for several moments.

“Do you want me to…?” he began uncertainly, she had been unsteady on her feet earlier, and he wasn’t sure she was feeling capable of stripping herself off. He pushed his hands into the pockets of the jeans he had slung on that morning, hoping to look unbothered by events unfolding.

Hermione looked at him blankly until recognition must have made its way through her foggy brain, and her eyes widened. “No,” she spluttered, “definitely not… no.”

Somehow her panic shook him out of his overreaction, and he smirked at her, “come on Hermione, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

She began to cough on her drink, “When did you…?”

Sirius laughed, leaning forward to turn off the taps. “Not you're,” he gestured to her body, “you know… specifically but you know what I mean.”

“I will be fine thank you,” she responded crisply, and Sirius walked out, shouting over his shoulder that she should call if she changed her mind, he was pretty sure if he turned around she would have been making a gesture to the back of his head, and he just about stifled his laughter.

Amusement to one side he hovered outside the door waiting to hear when she got in, he might have enjoyed teasing her, but he didn't want her to hurt himself. It appeared that he hadn’t thought the idea totally through when Hermione emitted a blissful, relief enthused moan when her body hit the warm water, and Sirius backed away trying his best to ignore his body's reaction.

* * *

Hermione called Sirius back into the bedroom once she had gotten dressed, and he followed her as she walked to the top of the staircase apparently intending to walk down unaided. Sirius swore under his breath at her stubbornness and stupidity, she was a little better on her feet now but nowhere near balanced.

He made to put his hands around her when she went to touchdown on the first step, and she whipped around to scowl at him. “I can get down the stairs,” she snapped.

“Love, I'm telling you, much as I hate to contradict the brightest witch of her age, you can't.” Hermione huffed. “Let someone older and wiser take the lead.”

“You can’t mean you?” she argued petulantly and Sirius kissed the tip of her nose.

“Keep going Hermione; you might just yell your way out of pancakes for breakfast.” She glared but gave him the briefest nod, and he tried not to look too smug as he picked her up. “See,” he said, as they moved to the halfway point, “you should trust me, Hermione.”

“I suppose this is right in your sweet spot what with your wealth of experience in carrying witches to and from the bedroom,” she snarled, though there was little heat left in her tone.

“Well, there has been the odd one that was rendered incapable of walking.”

She punched his shoulder, and he noticed with a mostly repressed smile that she didn't make any more protests.

* * *

As it turned out, like many great men before him, Sirius had been fooled into a false sense of security by one small triumph. Turning his back for no more than three minutes when he answered a floo call from a ‘concerned’ Tonks, concerned read nosy, he came back into the kitchen to find Hermione positioned over the stove, sorting out things for lunch.

He marched over to her gripping her wrists, making her jump at being caught in the act. “Will you just let me look after you?” he questioned, totally exasperated with her continued attempts to ignore, or evade his help.

She twisted in his grasp eying him blankly before making a show of dropping the wooden spoon she had been gripping tightly onto the surface and raising her eyebrows in challenge.

“Thank you, Sirius,” he said, mocking her lack of gratitude. “You are so kind to offer your time, I don’t know how I would have coped today without you,” he finished before frogmarching her to the table and threatening her with a sticking charm so she would stay there.

He moved around the kitchen quietly after that, keeping one eye on the witch not moving on the table in front of him, not trusting that she wouldn't go out and attempt to mow the lawn or do something else totally ridiculous if he took his eyes off her. He couldn't work out what she had been trying to do from the ingredients in front of him, and he was damn sure he wasn’t going to ask, so he settled on putting together a chicken soup. She had shown him how to do that more than once, and he had a good enough chance of making something edible.

She didn't move when he put it in front of her. Instead, she sat with her arms wrapped around her torso eyeing him crossly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked eventually, sagging into the seat across from hers.

“Oh,” she replied, “I’m sorry I was under the impression I wasn’t allowed to do anything, I had assumed eating by myself had been considered beyond me and that you intended to feed me.”

Sirius gripped his spoon tightly in his fingers, “just eat the fucking soup, Hermione.”

Minutes went by where the only sounds were the clinking of spoons against bowls and the gentle slurping of the soup.

“What’s it like?” he asked eventually, regarding the colour that had returned to her cheeks. She frowned down at her bowl. “That bad?” he asked, trying to hide that he was a little crestfallen, sure it wasn’t a huge thing, but he had never actually been taught to cook, and he was pretty impressed that he’d managed to produce anything at all in a kitchen that mixed muggle and magic.

Her mouth unstuck but it moved without words for a second until she gritted her teeth and stared at the ceiling, “It’s... it's nice,” she said, at last, avoiding his eyes.

“What?” he asked incredulously.

Hermione’s shoulders stiffened, “I said,” she repeated looking pained, “it’s really nice,” she sighed, “I wanted to be able to say it was horrid,” she admitted quietly. Sirius barked out a laugh at her and her lips quirked. “Sorry, that was childish of me.”

Sirius dropped his spoon into the bowl, “I didn’t know you had this side to you, Hermione.”

She nodded, “I’m actually a bit of a horror.”

He grinned as he picked up their empty bowls, dropping a kiss to her forehead, “that you are poppet, that you are.”

* * *

When he finally made it back to Grimmauld, tired and ready for some downtime himself, Sirius walked into the kitchen where Harry was washing up while James was in his moses basket, happily gurgling away as Harry talked him through the weekend Quidditch fixtures. Sirius leant over him, smiling at his balled up fists he was shaking in the air, picking him up to cradle him against his chest, enjoying the unparalleled comfort of baby cuddles and baby smell.

“You look as done in as I feel,” Harry said tiredly, drying his hands. “Where were you?”

“Hermione’s still sick,” he explained, lifting the tiny toy wolf he had brought for a joke and shaking it front of James’ face until he reached for it. “I had to follow her around the house to make sure she was neither working or trying to climb the stairs or do magic. I almost had to bind her to the table to sit there and let me make lunch.”

“But she let you?” Harry asked sceptically.

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, not understanding the slightly awed look on the boy’s face. “But she moaned about it like a baby,” James made a disgruntled sound, and for a moment Sirius thought he was contradicting him, though he realised with a small laugh he had let the squishy wolf fall out of the baby’s sight.

“But, she did it?” Harry pressed walking over to take a seat next to him at the table.

Sirius eyed him with confusion, “Why the face?”

“Sirius, Hermione never lets people ‘take care’ of her, especially men. Anytime Ron tried, even when they were dating, she would shake him off, if he were insistent, she would start screaming about the prevalence of patriarchy in the wizarding world, how she would manage just fine on her own, and that having a vagina didn’t make her an invalid.”

“She can't have been that bad,” Sirius muttered.

The boy snorted, “I handed her a tissue once when she sneezed, and she stomped on my foot with the back of her heel-”

“-Harry,” he interrupted agitatedly.

“-Sirius she broke a toe!” Harry exclaimed.

“You're exaggerating,” he replied dismissively, and Harry grinned broadly.

“Alright, I am, but only about that last bit, the rest is true, ask anyone.”

Sirius hugged James closer as he thought over the implications of what Harry had said.

* * *

Sirius walked up the stone steps to Hermione’s front door, a marked change from his usual journey of going through the floo but he was trying to make this evening different, at least a little. He had thought a lot about what Harry and about Remus had said and decided that maybe it was time to be a bit more… overt in his attentions. He still wasn't overly set on the idea of any grand announcement or declarations, but he wasn't averse to showing her some special treatment just in case there was any lingering doubt in her mind of what his ultimate intentions were.

So that evening he had owl'd ahead, he hadn’t just ambled into her home and had put a shirt on, a nice one. He had considered his one pair of dress shoes for a moment before kicking them off and putting his boots on, baby steps after all.

Pissing around with his hair a final time he reached forward to knock but the door clicked open, and he pushed it to walk inside. “Hermione?”

“Hi,” she responded from the hall, pulling her coat on and wrenching her mass of curls out from under the collar in front of the mirror.

Sirius looked back and forth from the door, and she caught on to his lack of understanding. “Oh, I was redoing the wards yesterday, Bill has devised this new pattern that's supposed to be a lot stronger than the last ones he recommended, anyway it made sense to update the access, so I keyed you in.”

She didn't seem to make a big deal out of it, and so Sirius tried not to either, instead he glanced at her, noticing her snug jumper and jeans tucked into soft leather looking boots. Attempting to distract himself he pulled her scarf from off the coat hook by the door and wrapped it round her neck securely, stepping into her personal space as he looped it around. “Wouldn’t want you getting sick again would we?”

“No,” she answered breathily.

* * *

They arrived at a cinema not far from her house after a quick apparition and walked through the faded grand frontage to get the tickets. Sirius hadn’t been there for what felt like a lifetime; it was where James had taken Lily on their first ‘proper’ date. James had been so proud of himself that he had planned something muggle, even going to pick her up from her parent’s house, much to her embarrassment. He had spent the few weeks before asking some of the muggle-born kids in their year what he could do, and one had mentioned that guys often picked scary films as it gave them a good chance to ‘cuddle up’. From memory, Sirius thought he had been relatively impressed with the plan which had seemed almost foolproof until it wasn’t. James had apparently been so scared he screamed at a jumpy part, and Lily didn't stop laughing about it for weeks. Remus was mortally offended when he had found out it was a werewolf film, though James had insisted he had no idea that was the subject matter when he booked it, Sirius had agreed he should have realised long in advance when they found out the film was called The Hollowing.

Sirius watched Hermione glance back at the line of mainly couples as he handed over the money for the tickets, having already ensured her compliance with his paying in exchange for her buying the treats, which was no real concession, she knew all the best stuff.

After grabbing more food that she could possibly eat, they went to find their screen, shuffling into the darkened room.

“Sirius?” she asked as the heavy doors closed behind them.

“Yes poppet,” he answered in a stage whisper, moving amongst the people already sitting.

“Is this a date?”

He stilled, styling it out by moving his snacks from one hand to the other and dropping into an available seat. “At this point Hermione we have done everything back to front.”

“Maybe from the back is our way of doing things,” she said with a faint smirk before sitting down herself.

Sirius stared at her open-mouthed. “Did you just.. Did you just make a sex joke, about us? Right before I have to sit in a darkened room with you for close to…” he looked down at the programme he was still holding, “two hours?”

She shrugged though he watched her suppress her smile with her teeth in her lip.

“Minx,” he growled, and she let loose a peal of giggles.

* * *

The cinema darkened slightly as the trailers came on and Sirius turned his head as he heard faint murmurings from the back row. Hermione’s gaze followed his, and both of them watched with a mixture of amusement and horror a couple of teenagers that were snogging, violently, in the back row.

“You didn’t even try to go for the back row, you’re slipping,” Hermione teased.

“Excuse me, have you seen that kid’s moves?” he protested, and just as he spoke the couple came unstuck with a very audible wet pop, and Hermione shuddered. “If you need a ‘scene’ to make a move you aren’t trying hard enough,” he continued and Hermione smiled at him.

“Great note.”

They lapsed into silence for a while as the screen blared at them, Sirius threw a couple of handfuls of the popcorn into his mouth but ended up scowling into the bag.

“What's wrong,” Hermione asked, “something with the food?”

“Popcorn is alright, but honestly I prefer it in your house,” he admitted, trying another handful confirming his disappointment.

“My house?” Hermione questioned weakly.

“Yeah, I don’t know why it just tastes better.”

Hermione nodded before fiddling with her hands for a moment. “Speaking of my house,” she began falteringly, and Sirius looked away from the food to take in her anxious face.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering...” she continued and Sirius started getting a little anxious himself, what if she thought he had been outstaying his welcome?

“Well, err, you are looking at somewhere new to live…. and I have… I have space, and it's convenient. You could always live there,” she finished staring directly ahead as if she was avidly interested in the singing nacho’s that were on screen.

“With you?” Sirius asked hesitantly.

“Well, yes,” she coughed a little, “I would… I would live there too.” She clenched her fists for a moment before turning to face him, “I know you were looking at other places, and I didn't know if you found anything yet but there… there's a spare room” she rambled.

“Thanks but I prefer yours,” he responded immediately, he would love to live with her but certainly not as his housemate, or heaven forbid her tenant.

“I didn't mean,” she protested.

A shushing noise came from the row behind them, but Sirius ignored it, “I know what you meant Hermione and I,” he leant forward to grip her cheek...

“Shhhhhh!” the voice from the back row came again, more aggressive this time and Sirius whipped around, facing the middle-aged man in the seat directly behind them.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He began roughly, pissed off beyond belief to have been interrupted.

“We’re trying to listen,” the man said tightly, “we have paid good money-”

“-Its the trailers!” Sirius interrupted hotly, “You paid fuck all for the trailers.”

“-Now listen here,” the man said with a shake of his fist, but Sirius was having none of it.

“- A beautiful woman has just asked me to live with her, if you shush us again I will spend the rest of this film showing you, in graphic detail, exactly why I was put inside for twelve years,” he finished, forcing his head to twitch as his hands gripped into the back of his chair, revealing his crudely tattooed fingers, and the man paled.

As he turned back around the man and his date got up without another word, relocating several rows back.

“Embellish much?” Hermione teased from her position leant down in her seat apparently preparing to avoid the potential fray.

He grinned at her. The movie theatre darkened, and Hermione made a grab for the popcorn resting on his lap, he gripped her shoulder holding her in place so he could whisper against her cheek. “I would love to live with you. Thank you poppet.”

He pushed up the little armrest between them and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tugging her against his side.

Hermione leant forward, snatching the popcorn into her lap before whispering right into his ear, her words caressing the side of his face. “So I’m beautiful?” she asked matter of factly.

“I said so didn't I,” he replied, using his other hand to search her pocket for the chocolate she had stashed earlier.

“Yes,” she replied rolling her eyes when he victoriously held the rolos aloft, “but during the same exchange you also implied you were rightfully imprisoned, so it threw some doubt on the rest of your statements.”

“I understand,” he responded with mock solemnity, “for clarity, everything relating to you was true.”

Hermione smiled, “So can I take it that was why you so readily accepted my offer?”

“No,” he said immediately.

“No?”

He shook his head, knowing they only had seconds before the boom of the speakers would cut them off. “I’ll admit, it's a sweetener, who doesn’t want to live in close proximity to someone they find beautiful? But I was already sold. I have been reliably informed that you’re a bit of a horror, that just happens to be a bit of a weakness of mine.”

Hermione swiped a chocolate from the bag he had just opened pausing to kiss his cheek, “Fortunate that.”

“I thought so,” he whispered before any further conversation was halted by the opening bars of the film soundtrack and Sirius slipped down in his seat pulling the beautiful little horror against his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

Sirius could concede, with little reluctance, that Remus had been right about many things during their protracted discussion a few weeks before, but in nothing more so than his observation that he wasn’t typically one to let the grass grow under his feet. Sirius had known that was true, known it of himself, and recognised when his friend had pointed it out, yet it hadn’t really hit home until the last traces of light in the cinema faded, and he could feel the slight weight that was Hermione resting against his chest. Something inside him shifted into alignment with her fumbling invitation, a sense of promised wholeness that had been missing for so long.

So he had sat through the film, reacted in all the right places, and he was adept enough at employing masks that he didn't think that anyone would have noticed that he was a man distracted, a man that was practically vibrating with the need to act. When the showing was over he had walked Hermione home, not pausing long enough to second guess it when he reached for her fingers to intertwine them with his, rewarded immediately when she squeezed his hand briefly before carrying on her ‘autopsy’ on the best and worst bits of the picture, as if nothing monumental had happened. Sirius no longer knew if he preferred watching the plots with her, charting the emotional response displayed clear as day on her face, or listening to her passionate descriptions after.

Once he had dropped her home, kissing her goodbye with a lingering press of his lips to the apple of her cheek, he walked straight into Grimmauld, not even bothering to shrug out of his coat before he strolled into the kitchen. Harry and Ginny were there, sharing a rare moment of peace in the life of new parents, a bottle of wine open on the table. Sirius didn’t take a seat before owning up that he was leaving. Not only moving but that he was planning on going to live with Hermione.

His godson had been more than a little stunned by the revelation, to put it mildly. Ginny had frozen entirely, her full glass halfway to her lips as he looked between Sirius and her husband, wordlessly entreating someone to explain. Once the initial dust had settled Harry had been less mute, he had asked Sirius repeatedly about his intentions, and the older man had batted back the questions as much as he was able. He loved Harry, almost as if he were his own son but he wouldn’t bare his soul to him, not about a woman who was his best friend, not before he had bared it to her.

In the end the drawn-out, but calm discussion came to some conclusion, though not one of full resolved understanding. Harry couldn’t comprehend how anyone could be in a romantic relationship, of sorts, and not want to shout it from the rooftops, he interpreted Sirius’ preference for a gentle pace and privacy as hesitance. It wasn’t entirely the boy’s fault, Sirius hadn’t really tried to explain. Harry was so very much like James would have been at that moment, he could just imagine his friend screaming at him to seize his happiness, despite the way he had been so considered when it had really mattered. Ginny, who had been making gooey eyes at her husband since before she could have understood what it meant had been equally perplexed.

Sirius hadn’t paid it much heed, as he walked back to his room, leaving the couple of the rest of their quiet evening, he reminded himself that he had lost enough time.

* * *

With Hermione’s agreement, they had settled on a week later for him to move in, and Sirius had spent much of that time with the young family of Potter’s. It was overly dramatic in a way; he wasn’t going anywhere, not really, and considering the amount of things that he already had planned with them for the following week it was almost as if he was just sleeping somewhere else. Though despite his regular, unsolicited assurances he wasn’t sure Harry believed him. Sirius recognised issues relating to abandonment when he saw them; he had, after all, spent a vast deal of his youth in front of a mirror. Harry’s residual fears mixed in with his reticence over Sirius and Hermione’s burgeoning relationship meant that the vibe in the house when he was boxing up what amounted to his life was a little… odd. Not exactly strained but at the same time there wasn’t much in the way of congratulations flying around, at least not from the inhabitants of Grimmauld, the feedback from outside its walls was far more pleasing. Tonks had sent a very enthusiastic card, containing a number of increasingly suggestive comments, with one in particular that had made Hermione almost glow red and a tiny scribble in the corner to show that it had been signed off by Remus, probably with some coercion.

For himself, Sirius couldn't have cared less about what the others had to say, he was doing what he wanted, and that particular day he didn’t have any space in his mind to consider their myriad concerns. No, he was more preoccupied with moving out of his childhood home, finally, without the intention of ever coming back, at least not to stay, and he was ready to go.

There was no more fear.

He had woken up in the night a few days before, a lingering dream taunting at the edges of his memory, him moving in and it all going wrong, Hermione kicking him out for some imagined infraction, but he quickly shook away. The girl was a pain in the arse herself, she was aggressive, pushy and could probably inadvertently smother someone to death with the weight of her good intentions but she wasn’t rash, not like he was, they could sort it out, they had sorted it out when they had argued so far.

It would be fine.

She had slept in his coat. His leather jacket that had been worn past the point of aesthetic recovery. She had tucked it around her like her favourite blanket.

He wasn’t disposable to her.

It would be fine.

When Hermione arrived, he had just finished moving his meagre possessions from all of the cupboards until they barely filled four large boxes. He had heard her approach, her trainer clad feet squeaking against the polished floorboards. He barked out a laugh when he turned around, taking in her denim dungarees that she had obviously worn for the occasion, she cocked a thumb under one of the straps and grinned at him, almost daring him to challenge her. She had insisted on taking a day off in spite of his many, many protestations. He recognised the choice of clothing for what it was, a clear indicator that she would not be swayed from helping.

“Not much to show for a life is it?” he asked, turning back around to regard the small stack.

“Well,” she replied, moving to stand next to him, “you haven't had much time to accumulate crap yet. I’m sure you'll make up for it.”

He smiled at her, “you’ve got enough crap for both of us poppet.”

“I do not horde,” she replied frowning, clearly trying to force her face to remain impassive though her lips twitched.

“Oh yeah?” he taunted, “What's that green blob thingy that you keep on your desk at home?”

“I’ll have you know that thingy is a very special award,” she replied hotly, crossing her arms over herself.

“For what?”

Unexpectedly she giggled. “I have no idea,” she admitted, “Victoire presented me with it when she came into the offices last year, and she looked so proud, I didn't dare ask what it was for.”

“I’m sure it was for an excellent reason,” he teased.

“Yes, well, none of your guesses, I love that thing, whatever it is, and I don’t want you perverting its attentions.”

After giving him a warning look she leant over to pick the first box, testing its weight, and he tilted his head back to regard her arse, who knew dungarees could look that good? “Poppet, if you're trying to prevent my perversions your current situation isn’t going to help your crusade.”

Her head snapped back over her shoulder, her cheeks pink, but she didn't bother chastising him instead she simply made a show of rolling her eyes before righting herself and pointedly turned around. “If you're quite finished, Mr Black, I think they’re all light enough, we can just carry them through the floo.”

Sirius nodded, “there’s one more,” he revealed not quite meeting her eyes. He reached into the back of the cupboard and pulled out the box bearing Regulus’ name. “This one's a bit heavier,” he said softly, “I should really go through it before taking it though,” he dropped it onto the bed and made to open the lid, “probably a whole bunch of crap…”

Before he could lift the flap Hermione placed her hand over his, leaning up to rest her chin on his shoulder, “Why don’t we take it with us, we can do it when you're ready.”

“We?”

She faltered, “Sorry I shouldn’t have presumed, only if you want.”

Sirius turned to rest his forehead against hers, “presume Hermione, always presume.”

* * *

Dungarees or not Sirius did eventually manage to cajole Hermione into not taking any of the boxes herself and left her to return to the kitchen where several of the ‘gang’ had congregated for afternoon beers. Once he had finally taken the last box through, delicately placing the unsorted remains of his brother’s life into the back of a different cupboard, he came back through the floo only to pause outside the kitchen door when he could overhear a slightly tense conversation taking place.

“But what's going on Hermione?” he could hear Harry say, his tone similar to the one he had used on him a few nights before. “He’s going to live with you, and then what? I just don’t think you have thought this through; I don’t want you getting hurt, either of you.”

He was sure she would have something to say, but Ron was the next person to speak, “he’s right Mione, this seems rash, and that's not like you, I think that…”

Whatever the idiot thought was cut off by Luna’s dreamy tones, “I’ve always considered that Sirius is an all in kind of person, Hermione too, don’t you think? Not a half-measure between them.”

The room was silent for a moment until Harry went to speak again and this time it was Hermione who interrupted. Her tone, was not the angry one he had heard her often use when backed into a corner, it was softer, not pleading but almost as if she was someone much older than her years, unmoved by the lack of understanding in the room.

“Harry,” she began, “I’m happy. He makes me happy; we haven't defined it and-”

“- You should,” Harry interjected, and Hermione sighed.

“Why? Would it make you more comfortable?”

“What if he brings another witch home?” Ginny asked, and Sirius tried not to snort, did she think he would do something like that?

“Well,” Hermione replied airily, “I hope he would ask first, it would be the courteous thing to do, considering we share a bed.”

Luna’s light giggles filled the room, and Sirius felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. But he was done being a passive observer, straightening his shoulders he walked through the door, stepping towards Hermione and laying his hands on her shoulders, the move was calculated and possessive. He looked down at her when she leant her head back to see his face. “Ready to go?” he asked breezily, ignoring the lingering tension in the room.

“Yep,” Hermione replied, popping the ‘p’, apparently behaving in kind.

There were cuddles and hugs that felt a little silly as he would sure he would see most of the occupants of the room the next day, but he couldn’t help the slight feeling of jubilance that spilt over. As he walked through the floo, pinching the side of the denim-clad witch he was moving somewhere for the first time in his life through choice, he wasn't running, he wasn’t trying to escape, he was safe and loved where he was and he had been offered the promise of something more, and he had taken it.

* * *

Going to bed that first night was… different. Previously Sirius had either let himself into Hermione’s flat, inviting himself into her bed when she was already under the covers or, if he had come over earlier, they would have been messing around in her room, watching a film or chatting before they would have tiredly drifted off to sleep. That evening there had been no such distraction. After moving his boxes around absently for a while they had eaten dinner together downstairs, he had hesitantly raised Harry’s concerns and had felt calmed by Hermione waving the issue off, ‘it will blow over’ she had said. It was comforting. After washing up they sat together in the living room for a while, pottering around like usual, not really committing to any one task for any particular length of time. As the clock had chimed eleven, Hermione stood, a little clumsily, saying she was going to turn in and Sirius had yawned himself before deciding to follow her.

That was how they found themselves now, each standing on either side of the bed, hands almost hesitating before reaching for their respective corners of bedding. Himself clad in black drawstring pants, Hermione with a tatty robe wrapped around herself, locked in an awkward stare-off. He tried for a flippant remark, but nothing was forthcoming, in the end, it was Hermione who saved them from staying there until morning. “I, I bought new pyjamas,” she said with forced cheer, “I thought you might like them,” she continued before her mind apparently caught up with what she had said and her face flushed.

Sirius swallowed, he tried to lean against the wall nonchalantly but was not quite sure he managed it, “give us a look then.”

“Right,” Hermione mumbled, her fingers wrestling shakily with the towelling sash before she finally released the tight knot and threw her outer layer to the floor.

Sirius’ head tilted to the side as he took in her full-length plaid bottoms and white top, not quite the image he had in mind, until he stepped closer, as close as he could get without colliding with the bed, and saw the faint paw prints dancing across her chest were bordering lettering in an elaborate italic script; ‘she who sleeps with dogs’.

“I thought it would be better than cats,” she murmured, her hand twisting into in the bottom of her top.

Sirius laughed, lurching forward to kneel on top of the bed, ignoring how she flinched in surprise at his sudden action and circled her wrists with his hands to pull her onto the mattress with him. “To sleep with a dog Hermione, you need to be in the bed, not just looking at it.”

* * *

After the tension had broken, they cuddled up together, switching the lights off and saying their goodnights. Sirius had expected to feel lighter, his mind to be lulled into restful sleep immediately like it usually was when he was wrapped around her, but that night his mind, stubbornly, decided to stay awake. And unless he was very much mistaken he wasn’t alone.

“Hermione,” he said into the darkness, “Do we need to talk about this?” He hadn’t wanted to put them under any pressure, no setting out expectations that one of them wouldn't have been able to commit to, but that wasn't the same as providing assurance when it was needed, or asking for it in the reverse case.

Hermione’s small hands moved from being tucked under the pillows, to trial under the covers until they rested over his own. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked calmly.

“Are you going to answer each question with a question?” he deflected, thankful for the darkness.

She gripped him a little tighter, and he responded in kind, till she was so close he could feel her heartbeat against his forearm. “Are you planning on going anywhere?” she said at last.

“No,” he answered firmly, with a shake of his head for good measure and he felt her exhale against his skin.

“Then… I don’t have any more questions, which before you say anything I am aware is miraculous.”

Sirius fiddled with the collar of her shirt, feeling the newness of the item from the plush delicacy of the cotton before dragging it to the side so he could rest his lips against the flesh of her shoulder.

“Is there anyone else?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, almost before he had finished asking the question, her tone just as strong, as unwavering as his had been.

“Then I’m good too.”

After a couple of seconds the grip they had pressed on each other loosened, became more restful and only a few moments after Hermione’s breathing had evened out Sirius fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

They settled into a routine pretty quickly. Hermione made space in all of the rooms for Sirius’ stuff, not that he had much, even going so far as to offer to put another desk into the study. He had refused, stating that he would much rather share, it was no real concession, considering most of his activity in there was focused on distracting her from any real work.

A week after he had moved in Hermione came home from work as usual but instead being assaulted, in the best way, by her endearing stream of babble about her day she was clearly preoccupied with something. She went about making dinner, waving off his repeated offers of help but she continually approached the little table he was sat at, reading the paper, stepping over till she was almost hovering at his shoulder and then walking away again.

“Hermione?”

“Yes?” she replied, leaning up onto her toes, swaying on her feet as if animated with nervous energy.

“While we are still young?”

She deflated, her feet now mercifully still. “How do you feel about a party?” she asked with a curiously non-committal tone.

Sirius was blindsided, “A party?” he asked blankly, and Hermione busied herself with the dinner she was preparing.

“Sure, you’ve moved house, and I suppose it’s like a new home-ish type thing.” she replied with a wave of her knife.

“What kind of party?” he pressed, already bemoaning the interruption of his sanctuary.

“A dinner party?” she suggested, possibly picking up on his reluctance for something bigger. “Saturday night, nothing fussy, just couples.”

“And us,” he murmured.

“Yes,” she replied though she avoided his eyes, “just couples and... us.”

“What’s brought this on?”

Hermione pushed a curl behind her ear, “nothing really, Fleur mentioned doing something at work today, and I thought it might have been a good idea. What do you think?” she asked her expression hopeful.

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed with a shrug going back to his paper.

“Erm, well great.”


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione’s admission to being ‘a bit of a horror’ seemed to apply when arranging dinner parties as well as being sick. She was vaguely militant about everything, from table arrangements to meat choices and had been driving Sirius mad for three days, cleaning around him and making mental lists of what she still had to do under her breath wherever she went. The eye of the storm came on the day of the party itself. After two hours of getting hit with various questions and gripes, Sirius begged her to give him a task so that he could have the blessed relief of being out from under her feet, without the guilt that he would have had if he slunk off to the pub.

“You’re stressed, let me do something to help.”

Mercifully she hadn’t yet brought the wine, and despite her obvious reluctance to entrust any aspect to the evening to another person's care, with some gentle persuasion she handed over the list before pushing him out of the door all the while muttering that she had ‘no idea why he thought she was stressed, she wasn't stressed at all’, before she went back to her three lists and four oven timers.

* * *

After correctly picking up the wine and pointedly ignoring Hermione’s surprised tinged thanks, Sirius went upstairs to get ready, Hermione had already made use of the bathroom while he was out, though he hadn’t braved staying in her presence long enough to check out the results. He returned down the stairs not more than thirty minutes later in a smartish pair of dark jeans and a petrol blue jumper.

“Is this okay?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen, standing in place and holding his hands away from his body.

Hermione looked up from the saucepan she was frowning at, “Why are you asking?”

He stared back at her, “Isn’t that what couples do? Ask the other if they think they look nice, before hosting a dinner party?”

Her hand stilled, “I suppose,” she replied with a shrug though her face looked weirdly pinched. She stepped back from her position behind the kitchen island and appraised him with a softly travelling glance, “You look nice,” she said at last.

He pouted. “Well, thank you for such effusive praise, how will I continue the night without blushing?”

Hermione smiled indulgently, “Sirius you know you look good, you always do, you don’t need me to…” she continued, but Sirius had stopped listening, his eyes having fallen away from her face to look at her outfit. Her slim legs elongated by tapered black trousers that finished with a cuff above her ankle, her small feet in simple, but high, black pointed shoes. Her top was conservative at first glance; the flowing fabric was loose fitting with a large neck, it hung artfully off one shoulder revealing a hint of her collarbone that he liked so much. The whole look was understated and relaxed having the air of being thrown together though he knew better. There was an underlying sex appeal that winked to him, from the sparkling anklet that glistened when her leg moved to the darker hued lip gloss she had opted for.

“Sirius?”

Hermione’s questioning tone pulled him from his silent cataloguing of her appearance in time to see her follow his gaze and look down. “Oh,” she said with realisation. “I suppose I should follow your example, is this okay?” she asked sarcastically and Sirius shook himself, okay? Was she insane?

“You look,” fucking edible, his brain supplied. “Nice,” he finished, walking away, her soft laughter following his retreat to the garden for a cigarette.

“Touche,” she called over her shoulder before returning to the stove.

Sirius took one last look before he closed the back door behind himself, it was going to be a long night.

* * *

When there was a knock at the door at bang on seven, Sirius sought to make himself useful and chased into the hall, dancing around a strained looking Hermione and was abundantly grateful when he pulled open the door to find Remus and Tonks were the first to arrive, well, for about three minutes.

“Hello cousin,” Tonks called happily as she bounded into the corridor, unmindful of the coat stand she barged into that Remus jumped to set to rights behind her. She positively beamed at Sirius, “Where is,” she paused with a wicked look on her face, “what am I calling Hermione these days?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “I don’t know, maybe her name?”

“No silly,” Dora replied, emulating a tone her mother would have used once upon a time, fluffy trimmings with the hint of steel underneath. “You know what I mean, your girlfriend? Your fiance? Your landlady?”

“Love,” Remus interrupted, “go through and get me a wine, would you? Here, give me your coat, I’ll find out where Sirius wants us to put them.”

Tonks walked off with a smug look on her face, and Sirius turned on Remus in the narrow corridor, “could you keep your woman in line Moony?”

Remus snorted, “Oh because you're so in control, we could hear you running for the door you know, enjoying playing house?”

“I’ll have you know...” Sirius began but was cut off by another knock, not breaking his stare with Remus he reached past him to open the door, wrenching his face away at the last minute and plastering on a polite smile at Luna and Rolf, who were side by side on the first step.

“Good evening,” Luna called happily, stepping over the threshold and unceremoniously dumping a rather large, bright blue, ceramic plant pot into his hands.

Siris regarded the plant with a look of dismay, it looked… well, a little indecent if he was honest, the head itself was shaped like something a young boy might carve into a school desk. Though he could have been imagining it, that week he had inadvertently discovered Hermione’s knicker draw and the twenty minutes he had spent ogling a surprising amount of black lace, and desperately sheer chiffon had been playing tricks on his mind. That was until he heard Remus attempting to suppress a childish giggle.

“Magnolia tree seed pod,” Luna said serenely, “it’s an excellent thing to have in the home, it aids cohabitation,” she finished matter of factly.

Rolf looked down at the ethereal blonde, a man totally besotted, “that’s right,” he agreed wholeheartedly, “we have four in our house.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Sirius said dryly, sharing a knowing look with Remus over the couple's shoulders, sending the werewolf into another round of poorly suppressed giggles, that he tried, somewhat successfully, to pass off as a coughing fit.

* * *

Bill and Fleur arrived soon after, and Sirius had barely opened the door before Fleur barrelled straight passed him shouting her hello’s as she sped into the kitchen where Hermione was handing out drinks. The part Veela managing to secure her hostess in an enormous one-armed hug while giving a bottle, and swiping a glass off the side, all in one smooth movement. Bill shook his hand and looked passed Sirius as his wife necked at least three gulps of the wine in her glass down, managing to exude an unparalleled feminine grace even in that action.

“Ah,” Bill said eventually, his hands in his pockets, “we thought we might have been pregnant again,” he whispered, “though it turned out to be a false alarm.”

Sirius looked back to the kitchen, Hermione had dutifully moved to refill Fleur’s glass, only to have the blonde encourage her pour by placing her fingers forcefully at the end of the bottle.

“Fleur’s thrilled,” Bill said with a small laugh. Sirius nodded blankly wondering what he was letting himself in for.

* * *

Once Harry, Ginny, Ron and his new girlfriend had arrived, a noisy rabble that tumbled through the floo, everyone moved into the dining room. Sirius noticed Hermione was looking a bit frazzled, apparently repressing herself from asking everyone for the tenth time if they were okay. She had run her plan to have drinks in the kitchen before going into the dining room past him earlier in the day, and he had shrugged, which he immediately discovered was the wrong thing to do, aided in his revelation by the cookbook that whacked the side of his head. When she left the room to grab another bottle of fizz, he followed after her, reaching for some more glasses, and tugging on one of the curls that had dropped out of her loosely pinned hair.

“It’s just dinner,” he whispered, hoping that playing it down was in some way reassuring rather than dismissive of her efforts.

“I know,” she affirmed, twisting the chilled bottle in her fingers, “I just wanted to everything to be perfect, we have everyone here, and it’s for you and…” she trailed off averting her eyes.

Sirius gripped her chin, bringing her face up to look at him. “I’ve eaten at their houses, Hermione, it usually involves a lot of nodding while you wait for rampant conversation so you can dispose of the food you simply cannot fake eating, they are not going to be expecting miracles. Even if the food ends up shit we get them so drunk they’ll never know the difference.”

She chuckled, the tight lines of her face relaxing, “come on we better get in there.”

Sirius shook out his shoulders as they moved back through the door, dogged by the uncomfortable feeling that he was walking into some battle.

* * *

It was a while before they took their seats, Sirius making good on his promised hosting skill of endeavouring to get everyone shit faced, some needing less encouragement than others. He chatted for a while with Ron, the youngest of the Weasley men had brought his latest girlfriend, Bella was a receptionist in St Mungo’s and seemed nice enough, if not the sharpest tool in the shed.

As Sirius moved through the assembled group he could feel eyes on him, most of the time it was Harry, glancing his way his eyes assessing but not unfriendly, the boy’s gaze more avid if he was standing next to Hermione. It put him on edge, to the point where he was almost relieved when Hermione shouted over the growing din that the starters were ready.

Conversation flowed well, for awhile at least. There were enough people around the table to support little pockets of conversation as well as points where a particularly interesting topic would come up that would engage all of them. Hermione had transfigured the table earlier in the day, so it was more square allowing for them to sit next to each other at the head, Remus and Tonks opposite them. It made Sirius a great deal more comfortable to be next to her, using the opportunity to rest a hand on her leg from time to time or shift their chairs closer, and he could exit quickly to top up the wine or help Hermione bring in the food.

But as the night wore on, and the drink flowed Sirius could to detect more than the occasional stare coming in their direction. Their non-relationship/relationship status seemed to cause a bit of discomfort amongst their friends, affecting some more than others. Tonks had tried to interject comments throughout the evening, but on the whole, they had been good natured and could be laughed off. Whenever she was too pointed in her observations Remus glared at her, though Sirius could tell he was finding it amusing. Traitor.

Fleur had made a few comments at the beginning of the night, but she was well on her way to gloriously pissed by that point, and long past the point of witty observations. As the mains were served, she had begun slurring her words a little and Bill had moved to roughly plait her hair away from her face when she started to get frustrated with finding the tips of her pale gold mane turned pink from having been dipped in her wine.

Of all the people present it seemed to be Ron’s new girlfriend who looked over at them most often, though on Sirius’ further inspection it was Hermione she seemed fixed on. At length, the girl rested her fork down on the table and turned to her hostess. “Hermione I was so glad we would get this chance to speak, I know that you and Ron used to date and well, I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't treading on any toes,” she finished primly.

The tactlessness of bringing it up at the table astounded Sirius; the girl really didn't seem to have noticed that the whole table had gone silent, Ginny’s chest was practically resting in what was left of her main course as she leant to listen closer. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Sirius was quicker. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, his fingers almost burning as he touched the exposed flesh he had been salivating over all night and looked the girl in the face with one of his most charming smiles,

“Hermione’s toes, as well as the rest of her anatomy, are entirely spoken for.”

“Oh!” Bella flushed dully, “I’m sorry, I didn’t pick up on,” her finger drifted between them. “Are you two dating then? I’m sorry I thought you were just friends who lived together.”

“Yes do tell Sirius,” Tonks piped up front the other end of the table, her smile broad, her hair so bright it was almost illuminating the air around her.

Fleur suddenly seemed to realise something, gasping before she slammed her elegant clutch on the table and began rifling through it. “Hang on a minute what's the date? Before the 15th? Get your galleons out fuckers, if they admit it now I win.”

Sirius groaned.

“I’ve often thought,” Luna began thoughtfully, “that only the undersexed take a keen interest in the love life of others.”

Rolf nodded eagerly at her before leaning forward to kiss the dreamy blonde in a way, that although relatively sedate, hinted at a promise of what was to come when the couple got home. It made Sirius glad there weren't kids present, then he caught himself and wondered if that was the most middle-aged thought he had ever had.

“You don’t win,” Tonk’s cut across the table, looking at Fleur who was still putting items from her bag into an unorganised heap on the table, sloshing around the wine in her glass that she seemed determined to keep hold of. “The bet wasn’t if they admit it, it was for when they... You know.”

“Fuck!” Ginny supplied loudly with a watery cackle and Harry glared at her, a horrified look on his face.

“Dessert anyone,” Hermione started weakly, and Sirius sighed.

“I’ll go,” he replied, retreating into the kitchen before he flipped the table and told them all to fuck off, belatedly realising that he had left Hermione out in the fray alone, probably fielding a million questions. He was so shit at this. He gripped the edge of the worktop forcefully for a moment before he began roughly decanting the chocolate puddings onto the individual plates that Hermione had left out when slender arms wrapped around his shoulders and Hermione’s perfume wafted into his consciousness.

“How long do you think it will take us to get new friends?” she asked and he smiled, the tension leaving his shoulders. He grabbed her fingers, noticing the dark red polish on the ends for the first time, and bringing them to his lips.

“Too long, though it's a happy thought right now,” he let go of her hands, turning around to face her and placing his hands on her waist, adjusting his stance so she could stand between his legs. Leaning as he was, with her heels, they were almost nose to nose. “You aren’t bothered?” he asked, she shrugged.

“A little,” she admitted, “but I think, were the situation were reversed, we would equally excruciating, maybe even worse.”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded, “still don’t want to give them your pudding though,” he muttered petulantly.

She smiled wickedly at him, “what if I let you pretend there's not one for Remus? Would that drag you out of here?”

“Oh, Hermione,” he replied with a dark whisper, “you always know the right thing to say.”

“I am rather attached to being right Mr Black,” she responded with a wink.

* * *

After dessert was finished, and a disgruntled werewolf was finally given his pudding, another round of drinks was placed on the table Sirius excused himself to have a cigarette, Remus’ following. “Truly excellent party,” his friend said as the door closed behind them, “so good of you to include entertainment as well.”

Sirius glared at him half-heartedly, “we aim to please.”

“It’s we now?” Remus taunted, and Sirius repressed the urge to slam his head against the wall.

As their light-hearted banter continued the back door opened again, and Harry walked into the garden. “Remus, can I have a word with Sirius?” Sirius instantly looked down at his cigarette, wishing there was more of it to go, he had a feeling he would need it. Moony had made a pacifying gesture before he headed back inside, hopefully, to control the rabble lest they started probing Hermione again.

His godson stood in front of him; coat slung over his shoulders, his hand came up to run the back of his neck, knocking his glasses askew. “What's this Harry? The warning chat?” Sirius inquired derisively.

Harry looked vaguely disgusted. “No, actually, we're not children, and that seems a little medieval.”

“Well,” Sirius said, dropping his cigarette and snuffing it out with his boot, “what is it then?”

Harry rubbed his jaw. “Look I know I wasn’t all that understanding the other day, and I know you overheard our conversation with Hermione.” Sirius didn't deny it. “I wanted to explain.”

“Go on then,” Sirius replied, leaning back against the wall.

“Hermione is one of the most important people in my life and from the way you were looking at her tonight, well, I don’t have any questions anymore just an apology, so I’m sorry Sirius, it wasn't my place to get involved.”

“That’s it?” he asked incredulously, “problem over because you saw me making eyes at her?” Harry’s teeth ground slightly, and Sirius knew he had to drop the attitude, it wasn’t helping either of them. “Okay Harry, apology accepted.”

“Thanks,” the boy replied, “but that's only really half of it, you see it wasn’t just her we were protecting.” He shuffled uncomfortably fixing Sirius with a direct gaze. “She wasn’t acting like herself and with the best will in the world Sirius she has a history of picking up strays.”

Sirius felt like he had been punched in the stomach, the only thing worse than the little witch having no interest in him would be her taking him in out of some misplaced pity. “Harry…”

“I know that's not the case now, but I had to be sure, you’re both great people, and the longer I think about it, the more sense it makes. But Luna was right the other day, you're both all in and I… I was worried.”

Sirius nodded a bit stiffly still not massively happy, and Harry stepped forward to put a hand on his arm. “Come on Sirius if you thought one of us was making a mistake,” he tensed, and Harry noticed it, his tone softening “even if you turned out to be wrong, you would say something.”

“I suppose,” Sirius conceded.

“That's the thing about our lot, in case you haven't realised it yet, we're a family, you get the best and worst parts. People always on your side, but right up in your business as well.”

* * *

After seeing Remus and Tonks out, swearing at his cousin when she cooed how ‘they must do this again sometime’ Sirius walked back into the kitchen expecting to find Hermione washing up, accept the kitchen was empty. He scanned the room and noticed the back door was slightly ajar.

In the small, neat garden she was sat on one of the simple wooden benches looking up at the stars, wrapped in his leather jacket. He didn’t bother to announce himself, the crunch of the grass giving him away as he approached her, settling down next to her as she continued to look heavenward.

“I suppose I should admit I pilfered this now that you live here,” she muttered.

Sirius yawned, stretching out to pull her against him, “I already knew.”

“Of course you did” she replied. “Was that the unmitigated disaster I think it was?”

“No I don’t think so,” he said, as her fingers came out from the edge of the jacket, fiddling the sleeve of his jumper.

“No?”

“I wouldn’t have called it unmitigated; you made a perfectly serviceable white sauce.”

“Arse,” she laughed out, pinching his wrist.

“It was odd,” he said finally, leaning his head against her fluffy curls.

“How so?”

“I went to so many of those things back when we first left Hogwarts, Lily and James got the house together and wanted to try and do grown up things. I always went with someone, but it was never really anything committed, or Moony and I would just go together, not bothering to find some bird. Sorry,” he said, shaking himself from his amble down memory lane, “I must go on about that period all the time.”

She shook her head, “it's nice, I like hearing about when you were happy.”

Sirius smiled, “it’s not just limited to then you know, me being happy.”

“I would hope not; you’re proving to be a pretty useful co-host, though I’m not sure Bill will ever let you go near Fleur again with a bottle of wine.”

“Excuse me, she was pretty determined to get drunk on her own, I only filled the empties, she was in charge of how often that glass needed refilling,” he protested.

“A likely story,” Hermione teased.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” he continued with a warning grip, “it was different tonight, being there with a someone.”

“Yeah, for me too.”


	11. Chapter 11

Sirius twisted his wrist to get the angle on the spatula just right, with a well practised wrenching movement he flipped the omelette over in the pan, forcing himself not to whoop, like he had the first thirty times, when the springy mass landed on the reverse side, without breaking. He was still grinning widely when Hermione shuffled into the kitchen. She gave him a knowing look, one eyebrow raised with a slight lift of her own lips as she headed towards the coffee machine, shaking one of the ridiculously small cups at him in silent question, immediately he replied in the affirmative. Coffee, like popcorn, was much better when she made it.

It was often like this between them now. Having got used to each other’s habits and quirks they were able to anticipate what the other would want, ask questions without verbalising them, it made for a peaceful existence. Not too peaceful, his mind countered, remembering their furious row from a couple of evenings before, but even that was something Sirius recalled almost fondly. Arguing with her made him feel alive, she was still safe, they shouted, and then it calmed, and she was still there, huffing and indignant but she never disappeared.

Sirius removed one of the plates he had warming in the oven and looked over at the little witch, her hair insane from her disturbed night's sleep, one sock high on her leg the other fallen. She’d had a nightmare sometime in the early hours, and Sirius had woken up to her tangled in the sheets and panting, though the sound of that would make his mind conjure a sensual pose the reality was like a cold bucket of water over his head. When he had managed to calm her, whispering endearments and promises into her ear, Hermione eventually burrowed against his chest for the rest of the night, so close he could feel it when the odd tremor moved through her body. He could see it on her now, as she faffed about with the machine that was too finickity for a girl with her lack of patience, the lingering dread that had come to her in the darkness, hanging over her like a persistent cloud.

She felt like his when she was like this. Most people that knew Hermione Granger would have stated categorically that she cared little for her appearance, that she was without display. But it wasn’t true, at least not entirely. If someone else had knocked on the front door right now, or if the whoosh of the activated floo had sounded her head would have snapped up like a frightened bunny. She would have grumbled and marched into the hall to get her robe, attempting to pull her fingers through her messy curls until she didn't look so rumpled, but she never did that with him. At first, Sirius had been a little putout, perceiving the lack of feminine vanity around him as indicative of an absence of attraction, but he saw it now for what it was. She didn't care if he saw her sad or weak, the rest would want her to talk about it, to fix her, she just wanted him to be there, which was fine, it was exactly where he wanted to be.

Hermione sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out the paper, smiling over at him when she noticed the page he had folded down, to mark for her attention, before silently reading the article, her eyes flashing across the parchment at a blistering speed. Sirius plated up the breakfasts and moved over to the table himself, wordlessly dropping Hermione’s in front of her and going about pouring some orange juice before sitting down himself. He watched her chew her lip, holding back laughter and wondered what they would do that day. It was Saturday and Hermione, for once, had not got some project or other that needed her to spend time in the office so they could do whatever he wanted. Typically they got one afternoon together a week, alone, sometimes more if he made a show of pouting at her for complaining about her wilful neglect, they took it in turns to decide what to do with themselves by unspoken agreement. Sirius liked to opt for long walks, in beautiful parks, where he could change into Padfoot form and bark at Hermione, who would invariably be walking at a snail's pace and laughing at him chasing smaller dogs. She preferred more sedate activity, quaint pubs with nice beer gardens and nicer Sunday roasts, where they would debate topics they knew disagreed on, falling into the comfort of familiar arguments. These were very different to the shouting altercations he had with her, as they played out as not so much ‘passionate debate’, but almost like rehearsing the lines of a well-loved play, each person knew their part, and sometimes the other would start it first in a mocking tone. They bickered like that about his bike, he had restored it of late, moving it into the small garage Hermione had, but he hadn’t convinced her to get on it… yet. She assured him she would never go near it, said it was too dangerous, he said that he had been in loads of near misses, and reminded her that he had actually died once, and none of those incidents had been bike related. She always laughed at his attempt at humour, though she held on to his hand a little too hard when he mentioned the veil.

Life was good, so he thought, he wasn't sure he had ever been so happy. Remus and Tonks could clearly tell, in fact, some of his friends teasing had slightly abated when facing the two of them over a dinner date, they were keeping guests to minimum numbers following the party, possibly forever.

Though happy or not, recently Sirius had begun to realise some of the pitfalls of the ‘let's not talk about this plan’. Sure it was less risky and allowed them to move at their own pace, almost like turning on the shower for a minute before you jumped in, after all, it was always best to make sure you had a warm reception any time you planned on getting naked. He could feel the energy was beginning to shift, living with her was so different, more intense, than just being around her often, sleeping next to her every night vastly more intimate than occasionally sleeping over. He could feel it this vibration in the air, like the string that was stretched between them, was going to snap. He developed a fascination with little bits of her skin, the thin line of her back exposed when she reached for something, the expanse of neck on display when she pinned her hair up on top of her head.

What was worse, or better he supposed, was that he wasn't the only one. When he first started coming over Hermione always wore long flannel bottoms, always, but then a week or so before she had come to bed in shorts. Sirius had seen a lot of provocative sleepwear in his time, and they did not fall into that camp, but they were a marked change from her usual attire. When he had questioned her she had mumbled something about it being warmer at night, which they both knew was bullshit, summer having long since drawn to a close. Not that he had many complaints until they wrapped themselves around each other that night and he had felt the warmth of her legs against the silky bottoms of his pyjamas, and he had to grit his teeth to prevent the moan that wanted to tear from his throat. If he were a mature man he would have spoken to her then, turned on the light and got it out in the open, told her how much he wanted to press her underneath him and love her until she couldn't see straight, worship her and make her understand how he felt in ways that he may never be able to vocalise adequately, but he had never claimed to be mature.So he retaliated, in his own way. First by forgoing shirts around the house, stretching himself out on the sofa in front of the floo before Hermione came home, and then in one extreme case, not quite buttoning his jeans all the way up before he made it into the kitchen. Lingering against the island as he inserted the last aged-stiff button, and folding his arms across his bare chest, waiting until he was absolutely sure she knew he didn't bother with underwear to ask her what she wanted to do. His voice waking her up from her ogling and preventing her from over filling her orange juice.

Their days were filled with accidental brushes and lingering hugs. The sexual tension was ramping, and all it would need was the slightest push, at this point, it wouldn't have to be something big, a simple nudge would be enough. In the end, Hermione's birthday was when it all changed.

* * *

Sirius had been prepping for Hermione's birthday since before he lived with her, the right present having almost fallen into his lap, well, not quite, but still, an opportunity of sorts had presented itself, and although he knew it was high risk and would take a lot of planning, and even then could still go horribly wrong, he went ahead.

Actions were of greater import to Sirius than words could ever be, he hadn’t thought Hermione the same until he got to know her properly, loquacious as she was on a ridiculous amount of topics she showed how she felt about people by what she did for them, not what she said about them. She would be endlessly polite to wizards she wouldn't spit on if they were on fire and at the same time chide Harry about every little infraction from elbows on the table to the increase of swear words in his vocabulary since he became an Auror. It made Sirius feel more sure about returning the affection in kind, though at the same time somewhat exposed, there would be very little doubt of where his head was at once he gave her this.

He was already out of bed when Hermione woke up on the day of her birthday, intending to keep himself out of the way so she could get herself ready for work without incident. It was when she came back that he intended to strike, and so he spent all day finishing off the gift, making sure it was wrapped securely before waiting for her in the doorway of the living room when the work day ended.

He hadn't been leaning against the doorframe long when the fireplace exploded with a flash of green smoke, and Hermione walked through, her robes slightly askew and her eyes tired.

“Can I borrow you?” he asked immediately, reaching forward to take her satchel out of her hands and suppressing his curse at the surprising weight. The bloody thing weighed almost as much as she did.

“I was going to get a shower first,” Hermione replied, rubbing her eyes, “I thought it might wake me up for tonight.”

Sirius smiled indulgently at her before gripping her shoulders and leading her from the room, “Just two minutes, I promise poppet.”

He walked her into the kitchen, manoeuvring her next to the table, it was only as he stepped back that he could see she had noticed his outfit. Ginny had been planning Hermione’s birthday night out for months, her enthusiasm to get out of the house, for her first ‘proper’ night out since James meant it was going to be something a little bigger than Hermione wanted, but as usual she had gone along with it without complaint. Sirius had showered earlier, getting ready before Hermione took over the bedroom, having pulled himself into dark fitted jeans and a black shirt, he watched with a flicker of amusement as Hermione’s eyes trailed over the skin exposed by his pushed back sleeves and his open collar.

“You look nice,” she said, meeting his eyes with a cheeky smile, “see, I didn't even need prompting that time.”

He shook his head at her smothering his laugh and leant against the wall beside the table. “Sit,” he commanded lightly, and she complied, but not without a roll of her eyes.

Once she was settled and looking up at him expectantly, he opened a drawer behind him, pulling out a rectangular box in a soft red colour and handed it over to her. She looked up at him warily, eying the obvious gift. “Sirius, you didn't have to get me anything.”

He scoffed, “Just open it, love.”

He had tried to think about how to give her the gift, being raised a pureblood there was a sense of ‘ceremony’ to every occasion and the means in which you chose to do something could be as important as the thing itself. In the end, he resolved that it didn't matter, as long as they were alone and it was before they went out. It wasn't a gift he wanted to give publicly, nor did he relish the idea of taking it where there was the potential for it being dropped, or forgotten.

Smiling slightly, Hermione leant back in her chair and pulled on the ribbon he had tied loosely around the box, in a last minute attempt to make it look special, after she had slowly lifted the lid, she looked down curiously, until, recognition filling her eyes she stilled, moving to place the now open package on the table, and gently removing the contents.

The rose looked a little less fragile in her dainty hands than it had appeared when captured by his aged tattooed ones, but still just about as he had wanted it to. The entire piece was about the size of her hand from its petals to the end of its stem, and as she turned it in her fingers, the fading light from the window illuminated the glass, leaving a spectrum on the table top between them that augmented and fractured, as Hermione continued her inspection.

“Is this?” she asked quietly, and Sirius nodded, this was where it could go wrong. His intentions were good but weren't they always? It certainly hadn't stopped him misstepping before.

His eyes fixed on the rose, avoiding Hermione’s face for the moment, the single flower was delicately crafted from fine glass, clear except for the very tips of the petals, they had been painstakingly injected with the smallest amount of blush pink colouring, suffusing down the bevelled surface giving it a slight sheen. He had always excelled at transfiguration, though it had taken a bit of research to find exactly the right spells to get the results he wanted. He had done something similar a lifetime ago when he was just a schoolboy, but he had never worked with a raw material quite so precious before, or for a recipient that meant as much to him as she did. It had taken five attempts to get the glass from the dustpan melted down and then recast to look exactly how he envisioned, but it was worth it.

He flexed his fingers, as her silent scrutiny continued. “I didn't want to give it to you at the party because I thought it might get broken, and it's obviously more delicate than the vase, so it's probably best to keep it as far away from me as possible.” His attempt at humour sounded hollow, but Hermione turned and gave him a weak laugh, her lashes wet and a large tear tumbled unchecked down her left cheek.

Sirius watched as she reverentially ran her fingers over the stem, with the slightly blunted thorns, before she carefully placed the rose back into the box, that he had spent the day layering with cushioning of both magic and fabric.

“It's so... pretty,” she said, at last, still looking into the box, “thank you, for doing this Sirius… I didn’t know what to do with that glass; I couldn't bare to get rid of it but… I would never have thought of this.”

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief, allowing his hands to drop to his sides. “Do you think your mum would have liked it?”

She made a sound that his ears registered as something like a half laugh half sob, “She would have hated it,” she replied decisively, and Sirius felt his stomach drop until he realised she was smiling, “It’s the least practical thing I’ve ever seen.”

He moved then, to sit down in the chair in front of her, to wipe the pads of his thumbs against her damp cheeks, “What about you?”

Hermione’s hand came up to rest against his wrist, holding his hand against her face before leaning forward. Her intent was clear as her face moved to kiss against the corner of his mouth like they had done so many times before, but at the last minute, once her eyes had fluttered closed, Sirius shifted his head, just slightly, enough that their lips would meet fully. He felt her surprise but his eyes were already closed when he brought his other hand to her face, pushing his fingers into her loosely tied back hair, and his thumb against the soft skin under her ear so he could hold her to him. It wasn’t a soft kiss, despite the sweetness of the moment that had initiated it, their lips met hard and determined, pushing against each other, though it didn't feel like a battle for control, more that they were pressing upon each other just how much they were there. Their mouths didn’t open, but they held each other close, Hermione tightening her grip on his wrist the first time he tried to pull back.

“I like it because you gave it to me because you made it,” she answered finally when they pulled apart for air. Sirius placed a light kiss on her forehead, as his breathing slowed. “Thank you for giving it to me before I attempted makeup.”

He brought his head back down to look into her eyes, pressing one last kiss against her soft mouth before reluctantly removing his hands from the mess he had made of her hair. “Come on then water works let's get you ready,” he said jumping up and pulling her to her feet.

“Will you tell me how you did it?” she asked as she squeezed his hand, moving towards the bedroom.

“There's a pile of parchment on the bed,” he answered, having anticipated her request, “I wrote out my notes, I should warn you, they’re not colour coded.” She beamed despite his teasing, and he laughed. “Only you Hermione could be more excited about notes than the gift.”

“Don’t,” she said seriously, and he looked up at her bemused as she stopped in the doorway, “Don’t devalue what you did,” she reached forward and gripped his hand again, her fingers sliding into his, “I really appreciate my gift, appreciate you, Sirius.”

He nodded as she let go, turning to leave so she could have her shower, and they could get going.

He hadn’t heard the words I love you many times in his life, had said them himself even less, but he had meant it every time he did. They had always felt like the absolute, someone saying that they held you in their heart and yet somehow Hermione saying that she appreciated him, had recognised his intent and acknowledged him for it meant so much more.


	12. Chapter 12

Neither Sirius nor Hermione had any prior knowledge of the place Ginny had given them the details for, though neither was overly surprised when it turned out to be a club and not a bar like she had implied, repeatedly, in the weeks leading up to the night out. Which resulted in a pretty heated exchange between Sirius and the fiery redhead, in what would have been whispered tones, but they both had to yell to hear each other over the blaring music. Sirius was incensed when Ginny point-blank refused to see his point, crossing her slim arms over her chest and maintaining that the establishment was ‘more bar than anything else’. Sirius had snorted, granted it was fancier than some of the places he had been over the years, no sticky floors and plastic cups, more neon lamps and wine glasses, but you could dress something up as much as you liked, when the lights went down as the music went up, and there weren't enough chairs for twenty percent of the clientele, it was a club.

Harry eventually intervened when Ginny mouthed, none too subtly, that the Marauder was now too past it to know the difference. After muttering a few home truths of his own Sirius took off to find Hermione, having a desire to have a good look at her and try to remember why he bothered to come out in the first place.

They had been the last two to arrive, Sirius had made a point of them eating something before they left. Not that he could face much of the sandwich he had hastily thrown together when Hermione came down the stairs in her party dress. It was simple, like most of her clothing, black strapless silk that glided over her body, finishing just below her knee. The fabric wrapped around her slender waist, leaving the enticement of a slight split up her left leg. A break in material that had seen him spend most of the early part of the evening, waiting for her to sit down, to prove his mental estimation of how far it went up, and then the next hour trying to convince her to get back on her feet subtly, so no one else would notice.

The Twins, having been there for a good couple of hours before everyone else, had amassed an impressive array of booze choices on a table and when Sirius caught up with Hermione, his earlier rage now simmering, she was standing in front of it while George and Fred offered several different bottles. He noticed her crinkle her pert little nose as he stomped over and took it as his cue to lead her away. Mindful of the deafening nature of the music he didn't bother with conversation, instead, he placed his hand on the small of her back before guiding her towards the bar. If she was going to spend her evening in a place she wasn’t that comfortable in; she could at least get intoxicated on her beverage of choice.

There were even more people at the bar than on the heaving dance floor, and Sirius stood closer and closer to Hermione as they approached the front of the queue, hyper aware of her every movement following their kiss earlier. There hadn’t been any repeats before they had left the house, though something had shifted. As she had come down the stairs to find him gaping at her, she had stood in front of him, twisting herself around so he could do up the chain she was wearing, allowing him to watch as it landed just above the swell of her breasts. He had put his jacket over her bare shoulders as they apparated, gently tucking it around her before folding her under his chin. She had surrendered the coat to him a few weeks before, but it looked a damn sight better on her. Since they had got to the club, he noticed how she repeatedly stood closer to him than she would have done before, not quite touching but almost leaning into the air around him at any given opportunity, and he certainly wasn’t complaining.

As the person in front of them picked up their drinks and awkwardly began their pilgrimage back through the crowd, Hermione rushed forward, and Sirius followed, placing his hands on the bar on either side of her, caging her between his arms.

While he was watching for a lingering barman, Hermione leant back against his hold, bending her neck slightly so she could see him out of the corner of her eye. “What do you want?” she asked above the din, and Sirius leant down to meet her gaze.

“Not your round birthday girl,” he answered with a smirk, and when the barman came over, he ordered for her, knowing what she would want, enjoying the way her mouth quirked into a pleased smile.

* * *

Hermione had been dancing for a while, and Sirius, having not seen her do that kind of dancing before, was a little surprised at how nimble she was on her heels, despite how infrequently she wore them. She was currently putting that dexterity to great effect, busting out some particularly strange ‘shapes’ with Luna, both girls seemingly completely oblivious to the attention they were gathering from a crowd of nearby men. Instead, they continued throwing themselves around, making each other laugh and wrapping their arms around each other to pose, ridiculously, for the muggle camera Hermione had brought with her. He wondered if she had any idea how captivatingly alive she looked at that moment.

She’d asked him to join her, but he had waved her off, opting instead to sit at the precious table their group had acquired, in a seat next to Fleur, who, thankfully, was taking it a little easier than she had been the night of their dinner party. He hadn't noticed how often he had been distracted until he the blonde rolled her eyes at him good- naturedly when he failed to answer her most recent question. Sirius began a weak apology but was derailed when he observed the fourth guy in ten minutes walk over to the girls on the dancefloor, he was on his feet and stalking over before he realised he was doing it, missing the knowing looks from the rest of the table. He got there in time to hear Hermione saying ‘no thank you’ in her ‘polite’ voice, trying to be kind, despite the volume she had to employ to be heard.

“What?” the unknown man said, moving forward till he was standing far, far too close for Sirius’ comfort.

“I said,” Hermione yelled back, “I’m dancing with my friend.”

The guy leant forward with a bemused expression as he cupped his ear trying to hear her over the thumping music.

“Hello poppet,” Sirius said as he reached her side, foregoing the need for shouting he spoke straight into her ear.

Her smile, as she turned, around made his chest expand and he pressed his hands on her hips, the proprietary hold was unapologetic and deliberate, as was the raised eyebrow stare he gave to the man left lingering on the dancefloor. The would-be-lothario raised his hands placatingly, and Sirius shook him off, no longer concerned as Hermione wrapped her hands around his neck, dragging him forward slightly. She’d had a bit more alcohol than he was used to her consuming on a night out, and was apparently at the point of being so carefree she could not see the peanut gallery of faces gawping at them. Sirius pointedly turned his back to them, shuffling Hermione’s feet to shield the sight of her entirely, having had quite enough of their feedback on their doings for one lifetime. Luna came over to swipe Hermione’s camera and made off back to the table, holding it aloft with a happy skip and Sirius wrapped his arms more securely around Hermione’s waist, swaying slightly, far too slow for the thumping upbeat music, when she laid her head against his shoulder. As ever they moved at their own pace, to what felt right for them, separate from what the world around them expected.

Sirius was happy to stay there for a moment, locked in a time all of their own until, just like at the cinema, he was distracted by a couple next to them, dancing and furiously kissing, as if they were attempting to climb inside one another. Hermione clocked his unimpressed face and looked at him questioningly, “What’s with you?”

He pointed over to the young dancers just in time for the teenager to place a hand on the back of the girl's neck as he thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth with all the sensual rhythm of a pneumatic drill.

Hermione laughed at him, smiling up at his apparent disgust, “Something wrong with kissing Mr Black? I don't seem to recall you minding earlier,” she said with a little gleam in her eyes that Sirius found he liked very, very much. Yep, definitely more uninhibited than normal.

“Of course not,” he replied smoothly, “but I would like to think that I had a little more style than to initiate a display like that, somewhere like this.” At least now, he corrected internally, if he had been the boy's age he would have been champing at the bit to all but maul Hermione, wherever they were, regardless of who was watching from the wings.

But he wasn’t an impetuous boy anymore, and this wasn’t about getting the girl to come home with him, he already had that, guaranteed, it was about that and everything else in between. He settled for grazing his hands down her bare arms, grinning as he felt goose pimples rise in the wake of his barely there fingers

“I didn't know you were such a refined man Sirius,” Hermione challenged cheekily, “this is something of a classic ‘meeting someone new’ scenario in the muggle world.”

“The key word being new, as in no repeats, assignations come from places like this Hermione, not heartfelt romance.”

The little witch in his arms drew her head away from his chest and looked at him with a smirk, “Who knew this was such an area of expertise for you? I had no idea you studied anthropology in your abundant spare time. Okay then, if it so different in your world, how does one go about meeting a pureblood scion for ernest enchantment?”

Sirius squeezed her hip in gentle rebuke for her teasing tone and dropped his head to hers, “You mean other than asking them to move in with you, and inviting them to share your bed?”

“I don’t think I ever invited you,” she objected weakly, her breath hitching as she picked up the way he had very deliberately lowered his voice.

“I don’t remember much protest Hermione,” he murmured into her ear, lingering at her lobe for a moment before pulling back to stand straight. She had flushed a little, her teeth settling into the side of her lip, he knew she was a little self-conscious, and that he was pushing his luck, but she had no idea just how alluring she appeared when she looked at him like that. It was those kind of faces that came back to him when he took just that little bit too long washing in the shower.

“Chaperoned dances,” he said eventually, as he snaked his hands a fraction lower, hoisting her against him, and slightly taking the weight of her feet. A trick he had picked up from James, who used to do it when Lily had worn high heeled shoes. She squeaked at the sudden movement, and he tried not to laugh at her when she gave him a stern look. Though she mouthed a ‘thank you’ when she realised his intent.

“Well, I'm glad that falls to your lot, not mine,” she said absentmindedly twirling one of the buttons on his shirt.

“Not fond of dancing?” he asked with some surprise, recalling her prancing around with Luna earlier.

“No, I like dancing, just not the formal, stuffy nonsense.”

“I should hope so, as you have no doubt imagined in your mind's eye, many times, on lonely nights, I am an excellent dancer, and not one for the stuffy things either,” he boasted, watching her trying to suppress her smile into his chest.

That wouldn’t do.

He skimmed his hand lower, enough to give himself the reach he wanted, then, quick as a flash, he pinched her bum, possibly slightly harder than intended and whipped his hand back before anyone noticed. She squealed in surprise before hitting his chest, almost falling against him and making him tread on her foot as he rushed to right them.

“Excellent dancer my arse,” she said a moment later, still panting from their near miss.

“I was compensating because you're so awful,” he defended, “I didn't want you to feel bad, so I brought down my prowess a bit.” She burst out laughing. “That one didn't land did it?”

“No not really,” she giggled out.

“Not the most polished of moves in any case,” he said lightly, though he was pretty happy with her reaction, even if they had nearly ended up on the floor.

“Oh I don't know, I thought it was rather nice, though it was pretty hard, I’m worried you might have left a bruise.”

Sirius smiled wickedly at her, “If I have left a mark, anywhere on your soft skin Hermione, you can be sure I will kiss it better.”

* * *

Hermione was sitting between Fleur and Tonks; their knees all lined up together as they sat close, the older women both talking animatedly at her and over each other if their mouth movements were to believed. Hermione didn’t say anything herself, not that Sirius assumed there would be much point in her trying. Instead, she nodded steadily as she slurped on her straw. After their time on the dancefloor, he had retreated to the bar to get another drink, hoping to cool himself off a little bit, both from the exertion, the crush of bodies, and the prolonged proximity to the curly-haired witch. He hadn’t been in the corner long before he was having another cold bottle pressed into his hand as Remus approached.

“Nice moves casanova,” his friend teased, sagging his shoulders back against the wall next to him. “I know you can't teach a dog new tricks, but it's refreshing to see that the old ones can be resurrected if there is a need.”

Sirius clicked bottles with him with a wry smile. “Well, if there was ever an environment that would cause it, it's this place, have you honestly ever been somewhere so dreadful?” he asked, gesturing around at the stark white walls with matching wipe clean leather furniture.

“Yes,” Remus replied with a small laugh, “but not for at least twenty years. It's hilarious to hear you moaning about it; you should be careful Pads, Hermione might realise just how old you are, you’ll be asking them to turn it down next.”

Sirius glared at him halfheartedly, but his minor irritation couldn’t take away the smug grin on his face as he glanced over at Hermione. “You're only as old as the woman you feel Moony, making me, as usual, younger at heart than you.”

Remus smiled, “At heart and definitely in mind,” he chided. “What did you get her for her birthday? You were late; you didn't do that thing where you put a bow on your-”

“-Look,” Sirius interjected impatiently, “that was one time okay, and I should never have told you.”

Remus put his hands up, “Fine, fine, so what did you actually get her?”

Sirius took a long swig of his drink, staring across the club to watch the strobe lights change colour. “A glass rose I transfigured out of a vase that belonged to her mother, that I broke,” he replied, almost all in one breath.

“Really?” Remus asked softly, well as softly as he could with the baseline of the unknown song that was playing, thumping so hard it felt like it was in Sirius’ bloodstream.

“Yeah,” he replied absently, picking at the label on the top of his bottle.

Remus rubbed a hand over his face, “Good luck pulling out before you get in too deep Pads,”

“I can pull out whenever I need to,” he countered, lying through his fucking teeth.

“Sure you can,” Remus replied caustically, and Sirius rounded on him.

“I look forward to when Dora gets pregnant again Moony, and you revert to an alternation of pacing and crying the whole time,” Remus’ eyes widened, and Sirius looked back at him completely. “Harry told me, listen, my wolfy friend, less of your lip otherwise I will not be available for conciliatory drinks or words of encouragement.”

“I did fine without you the last time,” Remus muttered petulantly, “when you were incapacitated by a fucking curtain.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, “Would that be when you ran away? With such excellent survival instincts Moony, I have no idea how you made it this far.”

Remus necked his drink, “fine I’ll be nicer,” he snapped, “feckless mutt.”

“Uptight prick.”

“Mangey…”

Their argument derailed as Hermione looked up from her place on the low sofa, her eyes scanning until she saw them both, hiding in the dark corner and smiled, an expression Sirius couldn't help returning. Fleur clocked them, grinning at each other across the room and elbowed Tonks, the two witches looking over at Sirius before huddling around Hermione again, talking twice as quickly as before.

“That chat looks to have gotten Sirius?” Remus said with an enormous self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Really, Mooney? I taught you better than that.”

“Old ones are the best,” he said with a shrug.

“Is that what Dora tells you?” he quipped, and Remus snorted into his drink making Sirius laugh even harder. It felt good this, being in a good place with his friend. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that he had lost that resentful feeling, the one that had nagged at him when he had been around contentment before. He wanted all of them to be happy, of course, he did, but it is hard to be around for long periods when you were lonely.

While they were busy ripping each other the discussion in their eye line had switched around, now Hermione was talking non-stop, pointedly staring at her lap, while the other two looked on with nods and short sentences in reply.

“Should I be worried?” he asked, cataloguing the concerned expression that had fallen over Hermione’s delicate features.

“Yeah,” Remus replied shortly.

“Comforting Moony,” he retorted, but Remus was typically unfazed.

“Did you want comfort or reality Pads?”

“Can’t I have both?” he whined, and Remus shifted his shoulder, pushing him towards the bar.

“No,” he replied eventually, “but reality comes with my company and booze.”

Once they relocated to the bar, stood side by side trying to attract attention, Sirius realised that his friend was assessing him subtly from his position next to him.

“What?” he asked, leaning over to meet Remus’ gaze.

“You love her then?” the sandy-haired man asked, both of them ignoring the jostling from around them.

Sirius debated making another quip, derailing the conversation into some farce or other, but he didn’t want to. If Remus was asking he already knew, which meant he was testing him, not his feelings about Hermione, his oldest friend apparently wanted to see if he would admit to it.

“Yeah,” he replied honestly, turning back around as the barman stood in front of him.

Sirius could see that Remus was stunned, but his friend managed to hold in his questions while Sirius gave the short order but began speaking, hurriedly, as soon as it was done. “That's it? No despairing moment of inadequacy, no idiotic last attempt to piss it all away?”

Sirius ignored the pointed accuracy of his statement, “Procrastination and drawn out angst is more your department Moony.”

Remus was bumped in the shoulder and as they turned the Weasley Twins were passing with a tray laden with some kind of foaming cups, on their way back over to the table.

“What's that?” Sirius asked, looking at the murky blue liquid with suspicion, with his enhanced smell he could pick up the potency from where he was standing.

“It’s this weird shot,” Fred began excitedly, “no idea what’s in it -”

“-but the barman said it was life changing!” George finished, and both Twins grinned at them.

Sirius and Remus both pulled one off the tray, acting with the same level of unspoken unison that the Twins typically employed.

“Hey,” the younger boys protested at once, “they were for the girls.”

“Not on your fucking lives,” Sirius said, walking away from the bar and back to their quiet hiding spot.

“Consider Dora and Hermione absent from this round lads,” Remus continued, following in Sirius’ wake. The Twin’s protests died away as they huffed back off to the table and both the former Marauders shared a laugh as they watched Bill pluck the one Fleur was offered out of her hand while Harry let Ginny pick up two, the kid had a lot to learn.

Remus eyed him knowingly, “I’m sure Hermione will love you being her champion.”

Sirius leant forward to pour the objectionable liquid into the water feature; seriously this place had a fucking water feature, he was taking Hermione out over the weekend to celebrate her birthday properly, somewhere where at the very least, everyone got a chair.

“She can barely handle butterbeer,” he defended, “she’d have been sick for a week if she had drunk that.” He looked over at her holding her chest and giggling, “And at the moment I’m not sure she’s employing the best judgement, in any case, what's your excuse?”

Remus smiled slightly self-consciously at him. “My wife can hold her liquor, probably better than I can, but I happen to enjoy evenings when she’s had enough to forget that she already knows all of my moves, while still being coherent enough to endeavour to pretend she can’t hear my bones creak.”

* * *

When they eventually came through the floo in the early hours of the morning, both Sirius and Hermione had consumed far more than their fair share. Having decided it was not that safe to apparate he had bundled Hermione up in his jacket again and walked with her through the floo in the Leaky Cauldron, waving to a yawning Tom as they went. The mass of limbs and awkward footing made them stumble slightly, a little more violently than they had on the dancefloor earlier, and Sirius’ arms wrapped around Hermione’s shoulders tightly as they steadied themselves. Once they had regained their footing, he noticed how Hermione had put her hands on his chest, her warm fingers scorching through the thin fabric of his shirt.

They lingered in that hold, for what felt like a moment too long and the atmosphere shifted. Hermione exhaled a heavy breath, before looking up at him through hooded eyes and his resolve snapped. In a move he wasn’t sure he was still young enough to execute he pushed her against the nearest wall and attached himself to her face, there was no other word for it. Their kiss was nothing like the one they had shared earlier, though this one had been building since then. Seeing her in the clingy black dress, dancing with her resting against him, being aware of where she was the entire evening had pushed him to this point. He barely caressed the outside of her soft petal lips before his tongue was inside her mouth, forcing her head back.

“Fuck,” he murmured harshly, inarticulately scrambling for something to say as he fumblingly hitched her up. One arm came up to rest under her arse while the other gripping into her hip as he held her in place and wrenched his mouth to her ear to nibble on the lobe as her fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt, giving up after the second one wouldn’t budge and ripping it off.

Somehow they made it up the stairs, Hermione draped over his front as he tried to transport them without incident and Sirius breathed out a sigh of relief mixed with anticipation as he deposited her on the bed, spinning quickly to strip his boots off and tug his shirt over his head.

He was panting when he looked around, ready to be met with the blazing brown eyes he had seen downstairs. But they were gone.

Hermione was asleep.

* * *

When Sirius woke up, he was aware of a lingering ache at the back of his neck and the dryness of his throat. Hermione was sprawled out next to him, lying in an odd way, her strapless dress having twisted around in her sleep. He had taken her off shoes the night before, but it had felt wrong to undress her, in a way that it wouldn't have done a month or so before. He had carefully wiped her face, removing most of her makeup, staring at her when her bare face had snuggled into the pillows without waking. As he looked at her now he could see slight smudges at the corner of her eyes and mouth that he had missed, he had probably been a little too soft in his ministrations.

Almost as if she could feel his gaze she woke up then, squirming slightly in discomfort before stretching and looking over at him, pulling the cover almost up to her eyes.

“Hi,” she croaked, her voice as rough as anything and he smiled at her.

Her eyes were hesitant, possibly a bit embarrassed about what had almost happened the night before but Sirius was content. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were on the same page now, and he was glad that she had fallen asleep, the action may not have been a conscious one, but it had prevented them from making a mistake. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to go in their story. He hoped that there would be a hundred times when they could do it like that, fast and sloppy, against the nearest surface. But not the first time.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning forward to tug at the covers she was using as a shield until he revealed her face and placed both his hands on her cheeks, the pads of his fingers pushing into her hair as he kissed her slowly, much more gently than he had the evening before. Sirius took his time, pressing his lips against every little part of hers until he felt her smile against his persistent mouth and then, tenderly, he nudged at her until she opened her lips and he moved to rest half his weight on top of her.

“I have wondered for so long what this would feel like,” he cooed as he repositioned himself, moving one arm from her face to trail over her shoulder and down her arm. “What it would be like to roll over in the morning, and kiss you before you had words, to derail the waking of your brilliant mind.”

He rested his forehead on hers, pulling his mouth away to look in her eyes, “do we need to talk about this?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head, “I think we’ve done quite well on instinct so far, don’t you?”

He smiled at her then, revelling in how one simple sentence from her had alleviated all of his doubt. Shifting backwards he pulled the strewn cover away and hunted until he found the zipper on the dress, which had migrated from her spine to her left-hand side. He ran his hands along her collarbone before he secured the clasp in his fingers, pulling it down bit by bit, never taking his eyes off hers before he reached up to take the bunched up material away from her body reverently.

He left her underwear for a while, moving around her to massage the points on her body that had been lightly bruised or marked by the patches of beading that he hadn’t noticed on the dress until he put her to bed. Soon his hands and their soothing touch were replaced by his mouth as he kissed down from her lips in a straight line, down the column of her neck and the valley of her breasts before he got to her belly button and paused. He stood to slip his pyjama bottoms off, tugging his boxers at the same time, before jumping back onto the bed, with an enthusiasm that broke the intensity of the moment, causing Hermione to giggle and he utilised her distraction to vanish the practical underwear she had on.

He hovered above her, taking a moment to look down at her flushed skin, into her eyes that were watching him, reminding himself not to fuck it up or embarrass himself. Hermione grappled the sheets at the side of her as if fighting against the desire to cover herself and so he did it for her, laying over her, and resting the weight of himself on his elbows.

He’d planned on more foreplay, determined to make this something she wouldn't forget in a hurry; this was the bit he was good at after all. But as he’d positioned himself he’d done it a little too well, lining himself up so that he was right against her groin and able to feel the dampness that was already there. He wouldn't have been able to move away if a renegade Death Eater had popped up in the room, and when Hermione gave him the smallest of nods, he almost sagged in relief, looking at her gratefully before he surged forward, leaving no more time for indecision or doubt.

“I love you,” he breathed out raggedly when their pelvis touched, flexing his feet against the bars at the end of the bed as if he could do something to absorb the fucking incredible sensation coursing up his spine and down his legs.

He crashed his mouth over hers urgently, covering any attempt she may have made to reply as he began slowly moving within her. He finally detached his mouth from hers when he needed to breathe, and Hermione had just begun to moan underneath him. She didn't let his face go far. Her hands came up to touch him, affectionately moving his dark locks tinted with grey from in front of his eyes, and running her fingers over his cheeks

“I love you, Sirius Black,” she said, and the earnest expression on her face and the sincerity in her tone made him lose his rhythm for a moment, sliding in more sharply and making her eyes widen.

Somehow the tracks left by her fingers burnt more than the feeling in his groin and he dropped a kiss to her forehead to give himself a chance to recover his emotions.

They didn't switch positions the entire time. Sirius had envisioned having Hermione in just about every way; from behind, up against the sink in the kitchen, her in his lap on his bike in the garden, up against the shower wall, but as he increased his pace above her, beginning to chase his orgasm he couldn’t have moved. Their entire bodies were less than an inch away from each other, and they alternated between deep kisses and staring at each other with expressions of relief, passion and wonder.

When they finished, and he rolled off her, feeling every day of their age difference, they laid side by side, both staring at the ceiling as more light came in through the windows.

“I'm kind of terrible at this stuff,” he blurted, cringing as he registered what that sounded like.

“The after sex thing?” she whispered quietly, and he nodded.

Sirius threw a hand over his face, “The physical… stuff, escalated quickly, considering the pace we have been moving,” he said, wondering if she had any regrets, “but, well, I’m deeply.... I’m all in if-”

“Is that a sex joke?” Hermione asked, and Sirius laughed rolling onto his side and kissing her shoulder.

“It could be a promise if you play your cards right, Hermione,” he bantered, and she turned to face him, a small smile on her face as she leant up to kiss him softly, retreating after a moment and burrowing into his chest.

Sirius wrapped an arm around her, his fingers trailing over her skin as he pulled her against him harder. “Is it weird to ask if you’re my mine when I live in your house, sleep in your bed and want to do that again as soon as possible?”

“No,” she replied, laying kisses against his neck, “but I am though, yours I mean, have been since... I don't really know when.”

Sirius was suddenly even more glad of her position as he felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes at her easy admission. “Since the films?” he enquired lightly in an attempt to lighten the intensity.

“You had me at ‘you really are the greatest witch of your age Hermione’,” she laughed out, and he grinned, a watery smile she couldn’t see.

“Ego-maniac.”

“Prat.”

“Bossy boots.”

“Layabout.”

“Pedant.”

“Yours,” she said, breaking Sirius’ flow and he dropped his head into her neck, breathing in her smell, mixed with his.

“Mine,” he choked out.


	13. Chapter 13

Despite Sirius’ concerns that he wasn’t great at the ‘after sex bit’, as Hermione called it, he didn’t think he was doing too bad, even if he did say so himself. Granted, it had only been a few days, but so far no major fuck ups had occurred. Sirius had thought, when he was in his late teens, that despite the seemingly inevitable prospect of meeting someone and settling down, he was unlikely to be very good at it. What with his short attention span, desperation to spend every waking moment with his mates, self-centred attitude, latent rage, and borderline alcoholism. While most of those things had changed as he matured or was forced to, by the route his life had taken, the fear, and the belief in his inability to make someone truly happy had remained.

Sirius found himself saying as much, in a very abridged way, to Hermione that morning after her party. Once they had gotten out of bed, or rather, once he had let her out of bed, determined to make up for the lack of foreplay in his first performance, he had slightly overdone it the second time around. Or so his spine seemed to be telling him, every time he moved. They sat at the kitchen table, after Hermione made coffee, and had their first real talk about ‘them’. Given how they had gently, almost migrated towards each other up to that point, Sirius shouldn't have been surprised when the words just seemed to fall out.

“Don’t let me fuck it up Hermione,” he said, after dancing around the houses of what he was getting at for a little while.

“You won’t,” Hermione assured him blithely, looking at him with a slight tilt of her head.

“I might,” he countered immediately, gripping his mug a little tighter and pulling it up in front of himself, as if having something to do with his hands would shield how he was feeling.

“Well, what if I do something?” she asked in her normal open, frank way, “I’m bossy, and not all that tidy, and argumentative, I could easily do something to annoy you.”

“I’d forgive you,” Sirius said without thinking, though he knew the answer was honest. He would forgive her, he would forgive her anything, just as long as she kept looking at him like she did.

“Sirius,” Hermione murmured, drawing his eyes from where they rested on his half sunk coffee. “I’d forgive you too,” she said determinedly.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she affirmed quickly.

* * *

At the next gathering, a few drinks at Grimmauld, that fell a week or so after they had got blind drunk together in the terrible club, Sirius and Hermione arrived together, like they always did. No one said anything, their behaviour was hardly unusual, but when they moved into the kitchen, there was only one seat left at the long table and looking at it for a moment Sirius sat down, before pulling Hermione into his lap.

They had discussed letting their friends know, at length, in fact, it had been there first almost row. Sirius had been massively put out when he thought he had picked up on some hesitation from Hermione’s side about having it out in the open. After a few harsh words, some slammed unit doors, a significant amount of sulking time and half a bottle of firewhisky he had trudged into her office and unceremoniously dropped his head into her lap. Now that he was calmer she explained that she wanted everyone to know, almost as much as he did, she just didn't want an embarrassing fuss. Sirius was mollified, but it didn't stop him from making an obvious gesture as soon as they were among friends again.

Hermione let out a mild squeak as he secured his arms around her at the kitchen table, and she flushed a little like she always did with his attentions. They got a few half smiles, and a roll of Remus’ eyes and Sirius was content. He didn't need exaltations and back slaps, he just wanted everyone to know, and now they did.

There were a few teasing comments about Hermione having ‘a bit of a glow’, and Luna made an airy comment about Sirius having a bite mark on his neck, which he didn't, he’d covered it before they came out, but other than that, the normal conversations resumed.

When Hermione had finished chatting to Fleur, who was sat across the table, Sirius leant up to whisper in her ear, “That wasn’t so bad was it?” He questioned lightly, suppressing the urge to bite down on her lobe. Hermione had been nervous before they left the flat, she hadn’t said anything, but he knew her. She’d changed her top three times and fussed around with her hair before she got flustered. Sirius had pulled out the ineffectual band she had been using to torture her wild curls into submission, kissing her neck until she was distracted, and pulling her through the floo.

Hermione sighed, “Well, no, but I still think I could have got my own chair,” she said slightly indignantly, and Sirius smirked at her.

“I’m sure you could have done poppet, you are very capable.” Her eyes flashed at his tease, and Sirius resisted the urge to bop her on the nose, lest she bit his finger. “But I like having you in my lap, and you should respect your elders and let me have my way.”

She snorted, “That argument can’t work forever you know.”

The casual mention of forever made Sirius grip her hips a little tighter, and he buried his face in her hair, gaining a few awws from around the table and making Hermione squirm in his lap.

* * *

As it turned out, the responses of their friends to their new ‘relationship status’ were somewhat muted. Those within the core group had seen it coming for an age, and if anything, were just relieved that they weren't going to accidentally put their foot in it with either one of them. Any concerns they might have had were now long forgotten, after months of watching the pair bind themselves around each other. Sirius found, with a little surprise, that some of the others, ex Order members and the like had already assumed they were dating.

It was a couple of months later that Sirius remembered the pool their friends had been running, having not thought about it since it came up at the awkward dinner party. It came to mind suddenly after his third pint on a night out with the rabble of boys, and he asked what had happened.

Remus had won it turned out, which gained a questioning glance from Sirius, he hadn't even been aware his mate had participated. Though apparently Tonks, Ginny and Fleur were all contesting his win, claiming the werewolf had ‘insider information’. Which Sirius could attest in his defence, that he bloody well didn’t. No one knew he was going to try it with Hermione that night, not even him until it had happened.

The internal investigation was ongoing.

* * *

In the first few months that they spent moving from the ‘Is this going to happen?’ to ‘Oh, shit we’re doing this’ phase of their relationship, nothing really changed. Except, as Sirius loved to point out, they got a little less sleep.

Hermione went to work, Sirius pottered around the flat, rode his bike and spent a bit more time managing his family holdings. They split housework, went to the pub at weekends, babysat for James and Teddy and Hermione still did most of the cooking. They still fought, and sometimes, and now that more emotions were involved the occasional bigger fight would slip in.

Sirius mused that before they were really dating the majority of their arguments had been minor frustrations with each other, or, more commonly, disagreements about house related things. ‘Why did you leave the lid off the toothpaste’, ‘You didn’t re-close the garage after you went in, my bike’s in there’. Those kind of things, but now, on occasion, it was other stuff, emotional stuff, deeper stuff. ‘I told you this on Wednesday, why do you never listen?’, ‘No, I don’t think that disappearing for four hours to read a book is an okay way to behave in a couple’.

But even in those fights, harder as they were, there was always a line, a barrier that he never crossed, and Sirius got the sense that there was one on Hermione’s side, that prevented her from overstepping too. So there were issues that they didn’t press and fall outs they shrugged off, because, as much as the little witch infuriated him like one on else on the planet, he was hers, and Sirius couldn't even imagine hurting her.

The one upside to the fighting that Sirius found incredibly easy to live with, was the required making up. He may not have always been the best at conveying how he felt, especially when his blood was up, but he had no problem with showing Hermione, he was sorry. When they would make up Sirius would ensure that it was always more than any other time that they were together, so that Hermione always knew what he meant. Sirius would move her chin to make sure she was really looking at him before he touched her. Would make sure that his fingertips had made contact with every square inch of her skin before he entered her. And he always made sure that he had huskily told her how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her before he came.

And the real magic, the magic of being with Hermione was that it was all forgotten. Not like the lingering arguments in the home of his childhood, no, with Hermione it all got swept away. She said her piece, her little nose in the air, squawking at him like a mad thing but once it was over, it was done.

Nothing had fundamentally changed, except that maybe all the little mundane things somehow felt a bit more fun. They ate together, they watched movies, Hermione wore his shirts around the house, and he kept trying to get her on his motorbike.

Everything was shared, all except their home.

Sirius has always loved Hermione’s flat, when he first started coming there it was because the cosy space was the antithesis of his family home, then it was because it was Hermione’s home. Being there meant finding out about her, becoming a fixture in her life. Now though? He thought he might like to redress the balance.

* * *

Sirius walked home with more than his usual spring in his step, the weather was getting colder, but it wasn’t the dropping temperature that was causing his briskness. It was the sheet of parchment that felt like it was burning a hole where he had stashed it, folded up in his back pocket. He checked the time again as he walked through the front door, shaking off the cold from outside. Hermione would be home in twenty minutes, which gave him ample time to make a start on dinner and begin planning what he was going to say.

Only when Sirius walked into the kitchen, Hermione was already home, and considering she was in a plain knit dress, the kind she normally wore around the flat, she must have been back for a while. She was facing away from him, her hair braided back from her face haphazardly, everything typical, but there was a tenseness about the room that made him pause. Hermione didn't immediately turn when he walked in, though she couldn’t have failed to hear his approach with his thick boots. On edge, Sirius’ eyes scanned the room. They didn't get far.

The kitchen table was clear, for once, typically allsorts were covering it, papers, Hermione’s work, bills, etc. but all of that clutter was gone. The only thing on there, placed right in the middle, was what Sirius had come to think of in his head as ‘the Regulus Box’.

Sirius sucked in a breath feeling instantly defensive. He still hadn't touched it since they had moved in. When he had tucked it into the back of the wardrobe it was with the express intention that he would go through it, face what he needed to. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t forgotten about it, far from it, in fact, sometimes he would stop to hover in front of the cupboard that he put it in, almost taunting himself to go through with it. But thus far he had never got further than laying his hand on the door, let alone opening the box.

Hermione had never brought it up, though she caught him a few times, pacing in front of the closed doors. The first time Sirius had thought she would say something, they could both be pushy and stubborn, a bad combination when one person thought they were right. He had even mentally prepared his defence, but he hadn't needed it. Hermione had walked up and looped her hands around his middle until he untensed and returned the unexpected embrace. Then she had pulled him out of the room to help with dinner, and they hadn't even discussed it. He’d spent nearly an hour with his head between her thighs that night, as she trembled beneath him, incoherently babbling and praying to gods Muggle and magical alike. He couldn’t talk about it, not even with her, not yet, and she understood.

So Sirius couldn’t understand why it would be there now. What was she trying to achieve?

“What are you doing?” He asked, his voice was colder than even he had expected, but he didn't make a move to caveat his tone with soft words.

Hermione shifted slightly, turning to face him hesitantly, and leaning against the work surface behind her, with the island separating them. The realisation that she was nervous did nothing to ease Sirius’ mounting temper.

“I thought we might need to go through it,” she said weakly, gesturing towards the box, his eyes scooted over to it for a moment, releasing a breath through his nose when he saw it was still sealed.

“Why?” He snapped, uncomfortable with being pressed to do something he didn't feel ready for, he might never feel ready for. He stepped forward, his former cheerfulness forgotten as he rounded the island and almost growled as Hermione averted her eyes.

“Well erm-”

“Hermione,” he interrupted shortly.

She winced, and it pierced the bubble of his irritation, instantly turning his fury to worry as he stepped closer.

“What is it,” she began, looking at the tiled floor, “it’s… it’s,” she tried before she sagged and looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered, before gripping the work surface behind her tighter. “And I thought that, well, if you wanted… it… the baby… and me, I mean. If you wanted him or her... to be a Black, then maybe you might want the option of the name, his name, but that you’d probably want to go through the box first,” Hermione rambled, and Sirius was sure his heart had stopped beating.

“Pregnant?” He said, in a voice he didn't recognise, stepping forward as she nodded, the action dislodging the tears that had been swimming in her eyes.

Hermione sucked in a breath, “I don’t know why I took out the box, I was coming back from the healers, and I just didn’t think. As soon as I heard the door go, it came to me that it probably wasn’t the best idea.”

Acting instinctively and hating that she wasn't looking at him, Sirius gripped Hermione around the waist gently and lifted her onto the counter. When she still wouldn't look up, he put his hands on her cheeks, dropping his face to meet hers. “Why? Why are you crying?”

“I’m sorry I didn't mean to-” she began quietly, but Sirius interrupted her.

“Why would I not want you?” he asked totally baffled by her apparent fear over his reaction.

Her bottom lip trembled a bit, “Well, we’ve never really… Everything just went so smoothly and I… We never discussed this… and I love you, like I really, really love you and I just...” she offered hesitantly, and Sirius leant forward to kiss her softly, pulling away and holding her face in front of his.

“Hermione, I will always want you, I will never leave you. You are my whole world and everything in it.” He moved a hand from her face to cup her stomach, “We’re having… our baby?” he questioned, and she nodded against his chest as she burrowed into him.

“Well, stop with the tears then,” he commanded roughly, coughing the emotion out of his own throat and Hermione melted against his touch.

“Sorry,” she said groggily, “I don't’ know why I got so scared and everything.”

Sirius brought his arms around her and held her tightly for a moment, letting the heightened emotions drain out of both of them. He couldn’t believe that Hermione had thought he might have reacted badly, this was more than anything he could have ever dreamed of. But for the girl in his arms, the one who was still quite young, he knew it must have been a bit of a shock.

Sirius bent down towards the ground, hovering in a crouch so that he could kiss the arches of Hermione’s feet, trailing kisses over her ankles and calves before his mouth met her thighs, looking up to smile at her before he blew a puff of hot air against her knickers.

“Sirius,” Hermione admonished, despite how her head had dropped back against the kitchen unit and her cheeks had flushed. “Not in the kitchen. This is where we eat.”

Sirius let out a bit of a laugh, proud of his ability to distract her. “I know love, that’s what I’m planning.”

“Sirius!” She laughed out, while he trailed his tongue over the scalloped edge of her knickers, his tongue silencing any remaining protest.

“Anyway,” he continued, “Aren’t women supposed to be horny when their pregnant?”

“Not until the second trimester,” Hermione replied, slightly breathily.

Of course, she would already know, Sirius thought to himself, though he mentally squirrelled the information away as something he would need to talk to Moony about. He had just made it to the bit where he was going to banish her knickers entirely when the sound of the floo activating rang out in the kitchen, and the unmistakable sound of Harry’s footsteps came into the hall.

“Guys, you in the kitchen?” He called out.

“I wouldn’t come in if I were you, Harry,” Sirius bellowed in reply, “Me and Hermione are very busy.”

Hermione hit him with a plastic spatula, which was largely ineffectual, in her defence, as Sirius later found out, she had been reaching for the kettle, but it had been just that bit too far.

* * *

The water sloshed quietly around him, and Sirius was content to merely float alongside Hermione, occasionally pushing her lilo around the pool. They had come to the South of France, to a little white washed villa that he had convinced Hermione they should retreat to, while they were having work done on the new house, their house.

Somehow after the news of the baby, telling her about the house he had seen all those months before had been anticlimactic. In fact, he had almost forgotten about the particulars that previously been burning a hole in his pocket. By the time Harry had warily come into the kitchen to be greeted by a flushed Hermione and an unrepentant Sirius he had been told the good news and immediately left to go and get Ginny. A couple of hours later they had a house full of well-wishers, and it had only been later that evening, as they got into bed, that Sirius told her about it. As usual, she surprised him by how excited she got. He had been worried that Hermione might have thought it was too quick, or be reluctant to leave her little haven. But no of those protests emerged, he supposed things were very different now that she was carrying his child.

At the thought Sirius leant up slightly, applying only gentle pressure to her float, so he didn't end up toppling her into the water like he did on their first day. Hermione didn't even blink until he laid a kiss on the soft swell of her stomach. A small smile played at her lips, and she carded her fingers through the ends of his hair as he sunk back down into the water.

They’d had the three-month scan before they left, Sirius almost knocking people over in St Mungo’s he was so excited. Hermione was just starting to show a little now, and it had been the perfect time to make the move before she got too stressed. Remembering Hermione’s stubborn face and the dungarees she had purchased, Sirius had decided to circumvent her inevitable protests that she could help, and instead, took her away.

Everyone had been over the bloody moon about the baby, Sirius had expected a few more ‘that was quick’ type of comments, but what he got was ‘in your time of life Sirius it’s best not to hang around’, which he could have resented, he wasn’t fond of people mentioning the age difference. But he found it difficult to maintain annoyance for very long at present. Especially when he achieved one of his life ambitions by silencing Minerva McGonagall.

His old head of house had been struck dumb for a long minute when she found out the news, the intelligence that he and Hermione were even seeing each other having surprisingly not got back to her yet. Sirius had waited, almost bouncing in anticipation, for the headmistress to unleash hell for his defiling of one of her favourites. What he hadn’t expected was for the old witch to blink away tears before fingering one of his witch’s curls affectionately.

“Look after him, Hermione, after all these years, I think he’s earned it.”

When they went to the pub straight after, Hermione willingly sat in his lap, without him even having to ask first.

Sirius leant his head back in the water, noting how the sun had moved higher in the clear sky. They were going to have to go in soon. Not that he wasn’t enjoying cataloguing the emergence of Hermione’s previously hidden freckles, but he wasn’t sure it was good for her to be out there too long.

He couldn’t remember having been on a holiday before, not since school, and certainly not one like this. Holidays in his youth had been about meeting family, strengthening existing alliances and building new ones. This, this was actually relaxing.

“Can you push me over to the shallow end?” Hermione asked suddenly, and Sirius moved to grip the side of her lilo.

“Yes M'lady,” he said teasingly as he reached the part of the secluded pool where his feet reached the bottom. She hit him with her book. “You getting out?”

“No, just want to get in the water for a little bit to cool off.”

Sirius sat on the submerged steps at the edge and pulled Hermione over to his lap as she sunk into the shallow water. Her legs are straddling his so he could feel her tummy against his stomach as he stroked her back.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“A little better thank you,” she murmured, laying her head against his damp chest and Sirius breathed out a sigh of relief. She had been incredibly poorly over the last couple of weeks, and despite Moony's repeated warnings about morning sickness, it hadn’t quite registered with Sirius how it could occur all of the time. Or how mad Hermione would get when he suggested that she might feel better if she stopped eating Nutella, straight out of the tub.

But now, now it was all peace.

* * *

Sirius attached the last balloon to the shiny black door of their newish home and walked back inside. Hermione had been insistent about balloons, something Sirius couldn't understand. He could have done anything, charmed the whole door to flash, or set streamers to go off in every doorway, but she wanted balloons, Muggle ones, in soft yellow and green, so that was what he had done.

Hermione was padding around in the kitchen when he came back through, opening and closing doors in frustration as she will still getting used to the new layout, and Sirius stopped to stare at her from the door, leaning against the frame.

“Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, love, you know me so well.”

She giggled as he came up behind her, securing her to him, his hands on her growing bump as she tried to put the prepared food out on the sides before the girls arrived. Sirius made a general nuisance of himself until she finally gave up trying and sat at the table as he had intended.

“Don’t pout at me, you know you're under strict instructions to not be the ‘host’ today,” he cajoled, stepping to the kettle to make her a cup of tea.

“I was only doing a few bits,” she protested, and Sirius raised a knowing brow at her, “Okay fine, I’ll leave it.”

“See that you do,” he muttered as he followed her earlier behaviour and opened three cupboards before he found the mugs. He wanted Hermione to calm down, but it was like trying to hold back the tide and about as effective as shouting into the wind. But, he was determined that her baby shower would be a day where she would sit back and let herself be looked after for once.

Hermione had evidently heard his little muttered comment, he was going to have to get so much better at doing that covertly, and she fixed him with a pointed look as he handed her the tea cup. “Oh yes, or what?” she asked sharply.

Sirius was undeterred. He thought it might come to this. “I’ll tell Fleur and Tonks,” he answered, crossing his arms and watched as she puffed herself in indignation before she sagged.

“Fine,” she muttered petulantly, and Sirius hid his smile behind his own cup.

* * *

Sirius was rescued from the frankly terrifying prospect of the baby shower that was underway in his new home by Remus, who popped up and dragged him away to the pub. Which was another one that the Twins had supposedly found, though Sirius still held some faith that these Weasley’s new about what was important on a night out, faith that was rewarded when they walked into the quiet, Muggle London pub, with real ale on tap and a pre-reserved area of comfortable seats.

Not surprisingly, as it was the reason they were all out, the topic of Hermione, and their upcoming baby arose pretty quickly.

“So,” Harry began, swirling the dregs of his pint a little, “When are you going to ask her to marry you?” He asked, puffing his chest out a little. Sirius had to very deliberately avoid looking at Remus to stop himself from laughing. Though he was touched, on Hermione’s behalf, by Harry’s attempt at guardian like behaviour.

“I’m not,” he answered honestly and then couldn't hold back the laughter at the table of shocked faces that looked back at him.

“... Why not…”

“... I thought you loved her?”

“... You're having a kid, shouldn't you be married?”

Sirius put his hands up to shush the protesting voices, “Look, we talked about it, I love her, of course, I do. Who wouldn’t? But Hermione didn’t want to be a pregnant bride, and I wasn’t that bothered anyway as long as she’s mine, so the wedding can wait. After all, this is Hermione we’re talking about; she might end up asking me.”

Leaving some faces still looking at him in bafflement, Sirius excused himself to get a round in, and Remus followed closely in his wake.

“I call bullshit,” his friend said immediately, and Sirius sighed.

“I want her to be my wife,” Sirius admitted, not seeing the point of arguing with his friend, “but I didn’t get to asking, that bit was true. We talked about it, Hermione didn’t want to be pregnant on her wedding day.”

“And?” Remus pushed knowingly, “Forgive me Sirius, but as Hermione is one of the least vain people I have ever met I can’t imagine that was the only reason, and I know you’re intelligent to enough to have picked up on that, so what’s really going on.”

Sirius turned away for a moment, calling his order out to the barman and dropped his tone. “She didn't want people to view the wedding as something we were doing because of the baby, the papers have already caused a right fuss as it is.”

Remus nodded, the Daily Prophet had run a few headlines since news of the paternity of the ‘Golden Girl’s’ baby was revealed. Very few of them favourable.

“It’s all fine,” Sirius said with a quick wave of his hand, “we will get married afterwards, quietly, then I’ll have everything I want, it’s a small concession when you think about it,” Sirius continued.

“Merlin, you're even beginning to sound like her,” Remus teased with a huge grin on his face.

“Shut your face Moony, anyway, while it’s just us,” Sirius made a covert glance to make sure no one else was looking. “Something else Hermione and I have talked about, we’d like you to be godfather, for ‘as yet unknown baby Black’, you up for it?”

Remus looked momentarily stunned, “I had thought, well, Harry-”

“We discussed Harry but, if this is about who I would like to take care of them if anything ever happened to Hermione and me, well, I would like that to be you, that okay?”

“It’s… it’s more than okay Pads; I would be honoured.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, great,” Sirius confirmed clapping his hands together as the barman returned with the order, you can get these and I won’t tell them at the table that you cried.”

“I didn’t cry,” Remus protested, but Sirius was already on his way back.

* * *

Sirius walked up the staircase behind Hermione, with his hand firmly pressed against her lower back. He would have carried her, he kept saying that he didn't mind, but she protested she was okay, and she may have been right. Sirius had always known that Hermione had an unbelievable amount of strength, but in those last few hours, as she laid back, sweat-drenched, and almost growling she had surpassed every held belief he had about her, about anything.

Sirius mused several times, while sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair, that it would be impossible to watch any woman give birth without falling a little bit in love with them, it was seeing someone at their absolute best, in his opinion. Not that he was able to test his new theory, he had been hopeless over Hermione long before the contractions started.

He guided her to the master bedroom and plopped the Moses basket down next to her as Hermione immediately laid down. They had talked about having a shower when they got home, but now they were there it was all he could do not to fall asleep, and he hadn’t even done any of the hard work. Though he had fretted for England. Every little cry, every laboured pant Hermione made, Sirius felt like he could feel it. It was the most useless he had ever felt in this life.

Then, suddenly, it was all done, and a pink-swaddled mass was being handed to him. A couple of dark curls poking out from the top of the sky blue hospital blankets as the midwives cooed about what a mop ‘the little man’ had.

“Well, it’s not exactly surprising is it?” Sirius had said, more to himself than anyone else, his eyes only for the tiny person in his arms, though he heard Hermione’s soft laughter. If he was sure of one thing, it was that his son, his son, would never be in want of more hair.

Or more love. He would never want for that.

When the nurses had finished with Hermione, she looked utterly spent, and Sirius walked over to place the baby into her arms, manoeuvring the rumpled bedding to sit at the side of her, pulling her to rest back against his chest while she pushed one of her delicate fingers through the baby's grasping hand.

“Hi Reggie,” she murmured.

Sirius did cry then. He’d managed to hold back until that point, too frightened that something might happen to give himself over to emotion. He wasn’t embarrassed by them, though, especially a little while later, when everyone else had barrelled into the room. By that point to not have been wiping his eyes would have put him firmly in the minority.

Remus was a little overwhelmed when he got his turn to hold the baby, and for once in their long friendship, Sirius didn't tease him. He punched his arm, affectionately, when Reggie had safely been passed over to Tonks, and Remus mock glared at him.

“Can’t believe you’d make a baby that cute,” he muttered.

“Like you would ever doubt it, look at me,” Sirius answered jovially, unable to contain any of his happiness.

Remus snorted, and then there was a pause. “I never thought I’d see this you know,” he muttered, as Tonks handed the baby back to Hermione. The clumsy Auror brushed some of the limp hair out of Hermione’s face but soon gave up and shouted for Fleur, who came over to braid it back.

“Me neither,” Sirius replied not taking his eyes off them. His little family.

Now, back at their house, Sirius just about managed to kick his boots off before laying back on the bed, his head resting against Hermione's with the Moses basket in between them.

“Shall I put a film on love?” He asked as he sat up on his elbows to look at Reggie who was one step ahead of his parents, already being already fast asleep.

“Sure,” Hermione replied with a yawn, snuggling against the covers and Sirius leant over to kiss her on top of her head.

“What do you fancy?”

“You pick.”

* * *

_Lay with me, I'll lay with you_   
_We'll do the things that lovers do_   
_Put the stars in our eyes_   
_And with heart shaped bruises_   
_And late night kisses_   
_Devine_


End file.
